Paradise Lost
by Denise Nicole
Summary: When a witch makes a small mistake, it affects more than she ever realized it could. BtVSDA Crossover Don't let that scare you.
1. Prologue

Paradise Lost

Denise N. Rodier

A/N: In the wonky world that is my mind, two tv shows ended up in roughly the same location. This small tale is what has become of it. Spoilers will be provided as needed, but expect nothing. Many detours may be taken from the show, and warning signs may not always be given. J Just... watch out for falling rocks... 

Fight the power, and protect the downtrodden. http://adinfinit.net/danation/

Buffy/Dark Angel Crossover leaning to the DA side, M/L, S/B, X/A (Oh, yeah. Sort all that out.). Non-Buffy watchers: Don't be scared. Give it a chance. Overall rating: R

Summary: When a witch makes a small mistake, it affects more than she ever realized it could.

Prologue

The best place to start is always at the beginning. Maybe. The only problem is… where exactly is the beginning? Does it sit in the past, or in the future? Perhaps it sits somewhere between, but then everything would precede or antedate itself. After all, whether before or after, it all exists. It is all now.

Awfully confusing.

Maybe then, the beginning is not the best place to start. Life itself seems to never start at the beginning. When people come into existence, the action has already started. Millions upon millions of stories have already been told, and will continue to be told even after they disappear. But if the end is chosen as the starting point, isn't something lost there, too? Everything would be known, resolved, finished, so what would be the point?

Maybe the best place to start would be with the mistake...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 1: Before

A/N: Spoilers for BtVS up through Blood Ties. 

Disclaimer: None of its mine. But since it invaded my brain, I figure I've got squatter's rights

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Chapter One – Before

__

Sunnydale, CA 2001

It was quiet in the early morning hours at the Magic Box. The silence in the store would probably be lost within a few hours as customers made their way in. For now, no one was around except for a few stray dust motes. And Willow didn't mind them hanging around. They were friendly little dust motes. As opposed to the unfriendly giant type like the ones that tried to attack her last week and…

She shook the memory out of her head. Another story for another day, perhaps.

Glancing around one last time, she verified that she had all the materials for her newest spell. Candles, bits of herbs, shiny things. All were present and accounted for. _Witches toys_, she thought, smiling. Willow checked her watch. 9:00. A few more minutes and she could begin.

_ This will work_, Willow told herself again. It had taken all the convincing she had in her to get Buffy and Giles to agree to let her try this spell. She swore to them up, down, sideways, crossways, and such that the spell would only bring them to the Magic Box instead of dumping them… wherever. The witch told the pair that they could just begin walking back after they had finished dropping Dawn off at school. If Willow had the concentration to pick them up, great. If not, well, the walk was short.

Seeing that time had finally arrived, she lit a candle and intoned, "Keepers of place, hear my plea." Lighting a second candle due north of the first, she continued, "I ask that these words be considered and granted." Willow closed her eyes and raised her arms in the air for a few seconds before lowering them to pick up a pinch of the herbal mix. She sprinkled it in the shape of a pentagram across a small silver plate. "Find the Warrior of the people and her Guide and bring them to me." Willow clapped her hands three times, then opened her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 2: After

A/N: Spoilers for DA through Hit a Sista Back.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Chapter Two – After

__

Seattle, WA 2020

He hadn't heard the door open, but he sensed her. He thought part of it had to do with her having caught him writing poetry. His psyche didn't want to receive a second blow. And the other part… he wasn't exactly sure. Maybe she couldn't surprise him because, in a way, he was always looking for her. He'd gotten used to having her around.

Not a bad thing to get used to.

"Logan!" came Max's sharp call.

Logan smiled. Somehow this greeting sounded better to him than any version of "Hello, Logan. It's nice to see you today. You're looking well" could. Logan gripped his wheels and turned slowly as Max entered his computer room. A sly grin slowly appeared as he looked at her and said, "S'up, my sista?" The grin widened and threatened to turn into laughter as the light look on her face turned into a sour glare that was half annoyed and half… really annoyed.

"I spent a full day with hoodlums and when I try to find the one semi-civilized person I know in this crap shoot of a city we live in what do I find?" Max plunked herself in a chair nearby. "Another hoodlum."

Logan couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out. "Sorry," he apologized, not sorry at all. "I couldn't help myself. Original Cindy called and warned that you were on a warpath against society today. She told me that if I didn't find something to, and I quote, 'pull your transgenic ass out of the whacked out funk' you've been in, she'd be looking for a new roommate. That was the best thing I could come up with on short notice." Which was not the same thing as what Original Cindy _actually_ suggested he do, but he wasn't sure Max would be quite open to _that_ idea.

Max sighed and slumped a little in the seat, glancing away. "I guess I could have been a little more…. _agreeable_ at work today. Sketchy and Herbal weren't any worse than those two punks usually are. But somehow it was just all too much. I've reached my dealing limit. I'm not sure how much more I can take."

The downcast look on her face echoed through Logan. Wheeling himself a little closer to her, he reached out and nudged her chin up until she was looking him in the eyes. He dropped his hand slowly, the warmth from her face tingling in his fingertips. "It's been a rough few weeks for you. Lots of sibling stuff."

"Yeah. Stuff," she echoed. Max turned her head slightly and gave a quick, quirky smile. "So mind if I trounce you at a few games of chess to work out my issues?" She rose, walking towards where he had the set stored.

Logan nodded. "Of course. Far be it from me to let your issues stir around in that enhanced brain of yours. Except, I'm feeling lucky tonight."

Max paused in her stride and rose a brow at him. "Oh, really?" she said in a slightly sultry tone. She took a step towards him. "In that case-"

A bright flash overtook the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 3: During

A/N: See previous spoilers and disclaimers

Chapter Three – During

Sunnydale, CA - February 9, 2001

Willow's brow wrinkled in confusion. She closed her eyes again and tried opening them one at a time. The left one first, followed by the right. No joy. So then she tried the right eye first, then the left. The view that met her gaze stubbornly refused to change.

Nothing!

Frustrated, the witch ran the spell through her mind again. Every word spoken perfectly. Every ingredient used correctly. She stood, thinking a little pacing might help, when a thought struck her. Maybe… maybe they materialized somewhere else, like the training room, or outside even. Yeah. Outside! With a slightly optimistic little hop, Willow started toward the door.

Before she could prance more than two paces, the door swung open, sending the bell above into a happy little song and dance number. When Buffy and Giles walked through, the redhead couldn't help the gleeful exclamation. "Oh, wow! I did it! And you're here… and I'm here… and we're all here! Which means I really did it. I -- " She broke off her exclamation as she noticed the guilty look pass between the Vampire Slayer and her Watcher. "You did it?"

"Wil," Buffy began, looking for something meaningful to say. She then sighed, and simply said, "We walked."

"Oh." Her face fell. "I really thought it'd work. I mean… it felt right at least." She sat, disheartened. "There's another spell in the cosmic circular file."

Giles cast the young woman a supportive smile as he walked behind the counter of his shop. "Don't give up all hope completely," he said in his usual precise British clip. "I'm sure with time, practice, and research, something will come of this."

"Yeah. Something," Willow echoed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bright flash faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Max and Logan blinking in the harsh sunlight.

Sunlight.

The pair stilled as the realization came that they were no longer surrounded by the comforts of a slick apartment with plush furnishings, but instead by some kind of town with colorful buildings and clean streets. As Logan took a cursory glance around, Max sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "What _is_ that smell?"

Logan slowly glanced at Max. They didn't know where the hell they were and she was concerned by the odor? Priorities… Logan slowly inhaled. "What smell?"

Max sniffed again and cast him an annoyed look. "_That_ smell."

He rolled his eyes. "Clean air," he replied sharply. "Can we please focus on the bigger issue here? As in… where are we?"

"My POINT to this is how many places near civilization do you know that are fairly low on pollution? Overseas maybe?"

Logan looked at the stores along the street. "Well, the signs on those businesses – Sun Cinema, B8 and Tackle, Magic Box, Jill's Toys and Gifts – not very foreign. England?"

"How 'bout California?" Max asked, pointing at the license plate on the front of a car parked nearby.

The euphoric feeling that Logan had felt building only minutes before dissipated sharply into a headache that was threatening to burn everywhere at once. "California. Okay. That's a start. That's only, what? 10 hours to the border? Maybe more the further down the state we get. It'd be workable, if we could get an airplane flight, a little longer if we rent a car. But you might be a little more noticeable through airline security, so we should probably go the car route."

"Might get a little expensive," Max pointed out. "Aside from rental, there's fuel, lodging, and food depending on how far to go, plus there's the fact that neither of us have interstate passes. Out of California, in and out of Oregon, in Washington, and we both know how fun it is to get past the borders in Seattle itself. We'd need more bribe money than it'd cost to fund Eyes Only for a year." Standing in one spot was really beginning bother her. Max picked a direction, turned, and started walking.

"Where are you going?" Logan had no choice but to turn and begin following her quickly retreating form. 

"I'd like to get a look at where we are, to see if we can find out where here is. Maybe find someplace with a map or phone book." She turned, and slowly walked backwards until Logan wheeled up next to her.

"Got a plan?" he asked. Max looked at him and made a sound of derision. He sighed. "That answered that question. Of course not. 'I make it up as I go along,' " he quipped. He wasn't quite sure, but that may have been a tiny smile he saw before she turned away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The misplaced pair spent several hours looking around the unusual place. Everywhere they went, they saw clean, healthy, well-fed people walking around like they had nothing better to do with their time, and nothing important to worry about. They saw shops that were well kept, devoid of the city sludge and barred windows that often graced the Seattle businesses. Cars were not dingy and didn't cough out dark clouds of gray fumes. Instead, they sparkled and hummed along.

Nothing was familiar.

Max and Logan resisted talking to anyone or going in any of the shops. Not knowing who they could trust, they silently agreed to do a full recon before making any decisions. The silence was broken when they reached a park in a more residential area of town. "Welcome to Sunnydale," Logan read off the sign. He looked at Max. "I think we now officially know where we are."

Max went from zero to half-pissed in 0.2 seconds. "Oh, that's just great. _You_ know where we are. Good ol' Sunnydale, California. Population: every single damn happy person on the planet!" She started a small irritated pace, then walked over to the sign and gave it a good sharp kick. "I, personally, am just _so_ thrilled that you know where we are, because I'd honestly began to think we'd managed to fall off the face of the planet!" She kicked the sign again.

Logan had wondered when she was going to snap. Max had simply been taking their predicament too much in stride. But now, he had the unfortunate experience of seeing an X5 looking for an outlet to vent her frustrations. And although he was glad that he wasn't said outlet, he was starting to take pity on the defenseless sign. "Max, you might want to stop kicking the sign. For one thing, I'm not sure the city would appreciate it too much. For another, you may hurt yourself."

Max tossed him a deadly look, and kicked the sign again.

The sign, for its part, let out a sharp _crack_ and fell straight to the ground, mortally wounded.

They looked at the sign. They looked at each other. They looked at the sign again. "I didn't do it," Max finally said. 

Logan looked at her in disbelief. "Max, I just watched you-"

"That's not what I meant," she interrupted. "It's been broken before. Several times, actually. Whoever repaired it used glue." Max bent down and touched the broken ends of the posts. "_Glue_," she repeated. She looked up to Logan, calm again. "Shoddy craftsmanship. Maybe this place isn't so perfect after all."

Logan could only shake his head at her. The emotional roller coaster that was Max had come full circle and slid sedately back into the station. He just hoped she wasn't going to line-jump and do the whole ride again.. "Maybe we should head back to town. Preferably before the Sunnydale P.D. or the local Sector Police get a hold of you for vandalism."

"I'd probably get three square and a soft bed here," she felt compelled to point out.

"Max…"

"Fine, fine." She stepped to his side and held out one arm, gesturing in a direction. "Lead the way, oh Sunnydale Expert."

"I want that on a certificate when we get back to Seattle. You never know when a new skill will come in handy." Logan could only grin at the glare he received.

But within the next hour, the grin was gone. Both of their facades were drained of blood in shock and disbelief as they stared at their harbinger of the _real _bigger issue. There was a lovely scrolling marquee on the front of Sunnydale City Bank. They watched as "Support your local high school baseball team and area businesses – buy coupon books!" scrolled by. They watched as "Lower your interest rates – inquire inside" scrolled by. They were still okay when "12:42 p.m., 67º " scrolled by. 

They were horrified when "February 9, 2001" scrolled by.

They barely managed to get themselves inside a cheery little coffee shop called "The Espresso Pump" and to a table before they collapsed. Several long quiet minutes went by before Max whispered, "Tell me I didn't see that. Tell me I'm imagining all of this."

"I wish I could, Max." He reached for her hand for support, only to grasp air as she quickly jerked away.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Fine." He told himself she was simply frightened, that her withdrawal didn't mean anything. Even though it did, a little. "What do you think we should do?"

Max reached into the pockets of her leather jacket and started pulling out the contents: a set of keys, a small tube of cherry lip balm, a couple lock picks, and a small wad of cash all clattered to the table top. She quickly fanned the money and said, "I've got $327. That should get us…" She looked up at Logan. "What'll that get us? It's _2001_. I've never been any… anytime outside of the pulse. Not really. Just a few months. Then everything changed and what wasn't much to me in the first place became something totally different."

Logan took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "Well, I'm apparently only 12 now and only got a small allowance. Get a small allowance. Whatever." He put his glasses back on and pulled out his own wallet. "I don't have much myself," he told her. "A bunch of credit cards that are worthless here. Hell, they were well on their way to becoming worthless there, too. I've got a little cash, about $50. Not much help. Sorry." He paused a second and asked. "Why all the money?"

She just shook her head and ignored the question. "Don't apologize. Not your fault." A thought occurred to her, "It isn't, is it? Never mind," she quickly shook off the question at the flash of disbelief that crossed Logan's face. She pulled out a twenty from her money and stood up.

"Where are you going?" he called after her quickly moving figure.

"For coffee," she called to him over her shoulder. She came back with not only coffee, but a phone book as well. "Well, I can say one thing about '01. Coffee's cheap. Two cups of your everyday generic motor oil brand is only $1.84." Max carefully set two large cups in front of them.

"And the phone book?" 

"Thought we could page through and see what's up with this place." She randomly opened the book and began to scan pages quickly. The ten digit phone numbers gave her a small jolt at first, but she kept going.

"Do you expect to find 'Need to return to your time? Call us!' in there?" Logan asked sarcastically. Max calmly flipped him the finger. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is that an invitation?"

Max just ignored him as she turned more pages. "Stop being a smart-ass. I'm just…" she trailed off. "Wow. There are 34 entries for funeral homes in here." She quickly turned to another section. "3 full pages for funerary monuments. What's up with that?"

Logan shrugged. "Maybe they've got a large retirement community here." As she started to turn to yet another section, Logan put his hand over hers to stop her. This time, she didn't pull away. He waited until her large brown eyes met his. "Max, I don't think we're going to find anything in there. Not unless you want to start looking for a motel for us to stay in."

She snapped the book shut. "Do you have any better ideas?"

Patiently, Logan took a sip of his coffee. Then another. For generic, it tasted pretty damn good. Or maybe he was just getting desperate for the caffeine. After all, it was starting to get late where they used to be. When they used to be. _Just ignore grammar for a bit, Cale_, he told himself. "What I think we should do is go back to where this started."

"And do what? Wait? See if we just spontaneously poof back?" Max sullenly grabbed her own coffee and downed most of the contents.

Ignoring the attitude, he said, "No. There was a shop there, _The Magic Box_, I believe. I'm thinking that we may want to check it out."

Max gave him another look. "Why? I'm really not seeing as how smoke and mirrors can help us much."

"What I think is that it's the best idea we've got. More importantly, it's the only idea we've got." At her slight eye roll and then grudging nod, Logan picked up the phone book and gave a smug smile. "Don't forget to return this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A kick. A punch. Another punch. A block. A swift turn. All beautifully, precisely executed. But no passion, no energy. Giles lowered his sparring pads just as Buffy stepped back to execute another series of movements. "That's not like you," he said in his quiet voice.

Buffy's eyes registered confusion for a split second. "Huh?"

He took a small step closer to her, to get a better look at her. "You were sluggish."

"Sluggish?" she repeated.

"Sluggish. I know that training is not among your favorite activities, but you usually display at least a modicum of enthusiasm during these sessions. You seem rather distracted." Giles cocked his head slightly to one side, and eyed Buffy with his usual British incisiveness. "Everything well at home I hope? Your mother is well? Not feeling ill again."

Buffy moved her head from side to side, as if to stretch the muscles in her neck, but really just trying to clear her thoughts a bit. "Mom's fine. Better than she has been in a while, really."

"Dawn, then?"

"Dawn's fine, too. I think she's still not so solid around the edges since she's found out about… well, you know. The Key stuff. The Glory stuff. But she's hanging in there." Buffy turned her back to Giles and began to aimlessly pace around the room, trying to put her thoughts in order. At first she thought she was walking in a straight line... but that soon became a half-hearted circle... and before she knew it, she had wandered a Snoopy-shaped path around the room, only to end up back where she'd started. With the same disordered thoughts. "Everyone's fine. Which in our little corner of the Hellmouth usually means something's wrong, but I'm going to take it as a good sign and run with it for a moment."

A swift evasion, nicely executed. But Giles was not one to give up easily. "Well, all that's well and good then." He paused. "It still doesn't explain why your mind is somewhere aside from your training."

Buffy shrugged, and began a mental debate whether to tell him anything or… she sighed. There was no point. He'd get it out of her eventually. "Well, I've kind of been having some dreams lately…. strange dreams."

Giles' eyebrows began a swift ascent up his forehead. "You've been having strange dreams? You should have informed me sooner, considering your record with dreams. Were you going to wait for them to appear in reality before you told me?"

Buffy gave a him look of exasperation. "You just _live_ from apocalypse to apocalypse, don't you?" She shook her head slowly. "Get a grip, Giles--you've told me yourself, not everything that goes on in my head when my eyes are closed is necessarily some big, important prophecy-thing. I mean strange as in... strange. Kooky even."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"I've been dreaming of snow, Giles." She hopped up on a pommel horse and gave her trainer an expectant look.

"Snow? And?" he asked.

"And… what else? Just snow, Giles. Little fluffy white stuff that appears on this side of never around here. And unless you plan to run me to Target to start stockpiling bottled water and toilet paper, I'm not going to concern myself. As you've pointed out earlier, I've got a lot other more important-type stuff to worry my fashionable little self over." She shrugged again. "Doesn't mean that I won't wonder a bit, though."

Giles nodded and raised the sparring pads again. "That's good then. You can wonder while trying to improve those instep kicks of yours." Buffy hopped off her seat and kicked at him. A searing pain radiated through his hand. "Much better," he told her through gritted teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anya enjoyed the general quietness of the small shop. She'd run into Willow leaving the place that morning, hearing her mutter something about finding Tara, her girlfriend. But for now, the place was all hers. Okay, so not _quite_ all hers since it was Giles' place, but since he and Buffy were in the training room of the store doing training stuff… it was all hers.

"You, my bestest friends, and I have spent so much time together lately," she told three of her dear friends Ben, George, and Abe. "And I feel like I've really gotten to know you well. What you look like. What you sound like." She raised the cash close to her face and breathed deeply. "What you smell like." She sighed wistfully. "This'll be the closest we ever get to each other. And as much as that pains me, I do have Xander to bounce around with, and he's pretty good. I mean just last night he did this thing with his right ear that--" When the shop door tinkled merrily, she quickly shoved the money in its compartments and slammed the register drawer shut. 

The two customers that entered the store sent her internal money-o-meter on a little buzz. But it was buzzing in such a weird way that she thought it must have been damaged by Act of Troll a few weeks ago. There was a young woman, semi-punked out, who looked like she would most likely be swiping the merchandise, but instead was giving off the "wealth" vibes of the pair. As for the young man in the wheelchair, he was dressed quite well, but was giving off the vibes of being next to bro--

A terrifying thought struck Anya. Wheelchair! Stairs! How could he spend money if he couldn't see all the merchandise? He needed to spend money! Anya needed him to spend money! She scurried out from behind the counter, to greet the customers. "Welcome to the Magic Box! You are both freely welcome to look at all of the many, many items we have in stock." At her greeting the young woman broke off her examination of the bell over the door and offered a quick, strained smile. Anya eyed the wheelchair again, then looked up at the man in it. "We do have an accessible side entrance so that you will be able to see – and purchase – some of our many, many items."

The man and woman gave each other slightly amused looks before the man turned back and said with a charming smile, "That'd be nice, thank you."

While the shopkeeper was outside guiding Logan to the other entrance, Max took the opportunity to give the place the once over. It was an… interesting shop, she'd give it that. Stocked full of candles, books, herbs, glass bottles, and odd statues, it looked like it did a pretty brisk business. To an evil pagan voodoo cult maybe. By the time Logan and the shopkeeper came in through the side door, they were already doing the standard "how's the weather" conversation. She swore that normal people had some type of small-talk gene that just allowed them to be able to talk to absolutely complete strangers like they were distant family. Which in their case, may actually have been a possibility. Or Logan's case at least. Max crossed her arms and took a few steps towards the chatters. "You've got a lot of stuff here. But I don't see where you keep the rabbits. Or do they come with the hats?"

Anya's left eye immediately began to twitch. An absolutely revolted look came over her face before she managed to tone it down to mere consternation. "I don't know what you've heard about us," she ground out between clenched teeth, "but we run a clean establishment here." She took a quick glance out of the corners of her eyes to make sure none of the offending creatures had mysteriously appeared and were hopping around on their wicked furry legs. Satisfied that her shop was untainted, she turned back to the customers, who were looking mildly shocked at the outburst. "Is there anything I can assist you in finding today?" she said with a cheery smile.

Logan chose his words very carefully before answering, "No. I think we're just going to take a look at some of your books, if that's okay."

Anya gave a tight, disappointed smile. Obviously, these people were not the kind of impulse-shoppers she loved.....but if she couldn't get immediate spendage, then the delayed kind was an acceptable substitute. As long as it wasn't TOO delayed, that is. "That's fine. If you need any assistance, let me know."

Max and Logan watched the woman resume her place behind the counter. They moved to a set of shelves as far away from her as they could find. Max couldn't help but turn back and give a final glance at the bell over the door. A simple device--cleverly positioned to shrilly announce the comings and goings of the local crowds who patronized the shop. 

Of course, Max had never considered herself one of the crowd.

Max leaned over to Logan and whispered, "I think I figured out what the Magic is. It's Magic if the keeper doesn't go postal on the customers."

Logan couldn't help but agree as he took a leather-bound book off a shelf at random and opened it to see what he would find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who the hell writes this shit?" Max whispered. They had silently poked their way from one set of shelves to another and finally ended up in the back of the shop. New books, old. Skinny books, thick. English, Spanish, Yiddish, and also, apparently, Gibberish. "Egtubartium plesmidiae sprotateum," she fumbled out. "It doesn't mean a thing! How the hell are we supposed to figure out how to undo whatever's been done if we can't even read this junk?" Max clammed up a little as the salesperson went to some shelves nearby and began to rearrange the books. 

Apparently, she'd heard Max's question, or part at least, because she perked up slightly and asked, "Can I offer you my assistance?"

"NO," Max said sharply and turned towards Logan.

Logan sighed. Even though the saleswoman was a little annoying, he refused to feed into the transgenic's frustration. He leaned past Max a bit and said to the woman, "Nothing right now, thanks." He looked back to Max and said, "You might want to try a little politeness sometime, Max. It does tend to help with interpersonal relations."

"The only interpersonal relation the two of us are going to have is my fist with her nose if she comes over here one more time. In the two hours we've been here, she's been over to us _fourteen_ times. The last time it seems she desperately needed to do some alphabetizing next to us. 'Are you finding everything okay? Is there anything you need? Can I help you look for something?' " Max mimicked in a nasally voice, completely unlike the obscenely chirpy one of the other woman. Max growled, "She comes over here one more time, Logan, someone may have to die."

Since he wasn't sure he could put it past her in this case, he said forcefully, "Max!" She looked away guiltily. Logan waited until she looked back and continued, "Please, just try to stay calm a little longer. If you can behave yourself for a few more minutes we can leave, with everyone _undamaged_, and go somewhere else. Break for the night and take it up again tomorrow." Max half-heartedly nodded and Logan knew she'd be okay.

Or rather, she would have been if the vendor hadn't begun dusting. Dusting the books they were studying, that is.

Max blew. Completely and utterly lost it. She snapped her book shut and used it to slap away the feather duster. "What the hell are you doing!?!?" Max yelled.

Logan quickly grabbed her upraised arm, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to stop her if she took any action. "Max, calm down!" he shouted.

Anya, for her part, hadn't the sense to be scared. Or to back off. "What I'm trying to do is to get you to move from your particular patch of floor! You're using up valuable air that other customers could be using. Paying customers!"

At the sound of the skirmish taking place in the main part of the shop, Buffy and Giles rushed out of the training room. They stopped as soon as they saw Anya facing off against a pair of customers, a man who was reaching up from his seated position to tightly grip the arm of a young woman who was brandishing a book like a club And considering the size and heft of that particular book, it would probably make quite an effective club. _I never considered using the Narmenoriti text in that particular way..._ Giles thought, _.but now that I think about it, that might be more useful than trying to READ the blasted thing..._ "Anya!" Giles snapped out "What is going on here?"

"Max," Logan said again, vehemently. "Get a grip on yourself." To his relief, she had already started to back down a little when the man and the girl had come out of a door near the back of the shop.

"They're not buying _anything_, Giles!" Anya whined. She got a pouty look on her face as she continued, "They've been here for over two hours and have only taken up space and handled the merchandise. No spending!"

"One hour and fifty three minutes," Max muttered through gritted teeth.

"Max. Walk it off," Logan commanded. Her head whipped around in shock to look down at him. "Now!" He pointed in a direction away from Anya. Max narrowed her eyes, turned on one heel, and marched away with a slight stomp. "Don't touch anything!" he called after her. He would have no problem accepting any repercussions from ordering her around, but he refused to be responsible for any damage she would do while still in her little snit. He looked at Giles and offered a slightly sheepish smile. "I'm really sorry about that. It's been a long day, for both of us. We're just a little strained. We are willing to pay for our time, if that's a problem."

"That's quite all right," Giles offered back. He turned to Anya, "I am aware that your impassioned all-consuming mission in life is to acquire profits, but it is acceptable for customers to peruse for some time before coming to any decisions. We wouldn't want them to leave unhappy, would we? And return merchandise?"

Anya crossed her arms and looked down at the ground. She traced small bunnies with daggers through their furry chests with one toe. "No," she admitted.

Giles nodded, turned back to the amused customer and offered a hand. "I'm Rupert Giles, proprietor of The Magic Box. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"Pleased to meet you." Logan took the hand and gave it a firm shake. He debated briefly between sidestepping the offer and coming out with his and Max's problem. Deciding that Max had been entirely correct when she said the words in the books didn't mean a thing to them, he chose the latter. "Actually, I think we'd be better off if we took you up on your offer. Do you mind if we all sit down?"

"Not at all," Giles said, pointing out the table that sat in the middle of the store.

Logan gestured at Max, who was finishing up a slow lap. He moved a chair out of the way so he could maneuver himself up to the table, and waited until everyone had taken a seat before beginning the introductions. "My name is Logan, and this is Max," he added, indicating her. She nodded in acknowledgement, significantly calmer than a few minutes before. "Rupert?" he inquired.

"Most people around here prefer to call me Giles, for whatever inane reason. You've met Anya already," he said, nodding at the woman.

"And I'm Buffy," Buffy said, much preferring to introduce herself. "I'm… uh… I spend a lot of time around here. And help sometimes. With stuff. You need help? With stuff?" _Geez. Smooth much? Should've let somebody else introduce me. 'Hi, strange new people, this is Buffy. She doesn't talk much, but if you need someone to poke undead things with pointy wooden sticks, she's your gal!' Yeah, that'd do it._

Max and Logan looked at each other. Logan's eyes asked how much he should say, and Max's answering shrug told him that it was his show, he got to run it. "We seem to have found ourselves in a bit of a predicament."

Max couldn't help but snort. "That's a mild term for mess."

Buffy smiled. "We tend to get a lot of those around here. I think you've come to the right place. What's happened?"

Logan chose his words very carefully. "Well, about six hours ago we were in my apartment. There was a bright flash, and then we found ourselves across the street in front of this shop." He saw the three nodding, and somehow felt Max begin to hide a smirk. He added, "My apartment in Seattle, Washington."

A silence came over the group. A trio of voices chorused, "Oh." Buffy and Anya both looked at Giles, who took off his glasses and began to clean them. 

Max poked Logan. "Aren't you going to finish?" she asked snidely.

"Finish? There's more?" Buffy's eyes widened slightly with sympathetic disbelief.

Before either Logan or Max could elaborate, the door to the shop flung open, leaving the bell jittering about madly in its wake. Two women, one with red hair and the other with blonde, did a slight jog and skip down the stairs. "Giles! Buffy! We think we figured it out and want to try it again!" the redhead said happily. Both she and the other woman came to a quick halt, though, as they reached the table and noticed two people of the "not-them" type sitting there.

Giles took it upon himself to do another round of introductions. "Max, Logan, this is Willow and Tara. More frequent faces around The Magic Box."

"Figured what out?" Anya inquired.

"Oh, that remote transportation spell I tried this morning," Willow replied. Then gave a slight sigh and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Anya, I paid for the supplies."

Buffy and Giles missed her little side note because they were too busy recovering from the shock of the reminder of what they had been trying to accomplish that morning. About six hours ago to be exact. They looked at Max and Logan, whose features had darkened slightly at Willow's words. "Willow," Buffy began. "I think we've got a little problem."

"Problem?" she asked warily.

"Max and Logan are from Seattle. They kind of found themselves outside the Magic Box this morning after a big flash grabbed them," Buffy informed her.

"Seattle?" Willow repeated dumbly. "As in Washington, Seattle?"

"I think that's supposed to be Seattle, Washington, but yes," Giles answered.

"Hmm." Willow's brow furrowed in an effort to keep her general confusion in. "Well, Seattle is… what? 21 hours by car? A few by plane? That's not so bad." Noticing the quite unhappy looks being given, she added, "It's not, is it?"

"They were just about to finish," Anya told her helpfully.

"Finish?"

"Finish," Buffy and Giles chimed. They then looked at Logan, who by then had reached over and gripped Max's hand like a lifeline. Or maybe she had gripped his. It really didn't matter.

"When we were taken from Seattle," Logan began slowly. "It was about 4:00 in the afternoon. On April 8, 2020."

"Oh." Willow absorbed this new information. "Oops?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 4: Now What?

A/N: All previous disclaimers, author's notes, casual comments, and snide remarks are still in effect until either I give notice or until I get bored enough to make new ones. Whichever happens first. Or last. Whatever. And, as always, please review. Even a simple "nifty" or "sucks" works if you want. ;) Thanks to all who have already reviewed.

**Chapter 4 – Now What?**

Willow really had no earthly clue what else to say. And the unearthly ones weren't being very forthcoming either. She'd had good intentions with her spell. Honestly she had. Something just went a little… sideways. Okay, maybe more like hugeishly sideways, but still. All good intent behind it. Although, she was pretty sure that would offer no consolation to the displaced duo before her.

A small part of her couldn't help but cheer. _Imagine me, Willow Rosenberg, ex-geek, now a manipulator of space AND time. I SO rock._ But she really didn't think that would help much, either. Especially since Max was giving her that frigid look. Willow was looking for a straw to grasp, when Max beat her to it and snapped it in half. 

"Oops? That's all you can say? Oops!" The unhappy woman pushed back from the table and began to do a slow prowl around them all. "Sunnydale. They call it 'Sunny'-dale. What the hell kind of name is that? Sunny-fucking-dale. And what's the great all-American pastime in this Sunny place? Relocating strangers!" she chanted in a sharp, desperate rhythm. She stopped and looked at Logan. "This can't be real. Places like this only exist in fairy tales where the prince turns into a frog or a pumpkin or something and everyone lives happily ever after. This kind of stuff doesn't happen. It has to be a dream. Has to be!" Dark eyes pleaded with bright blue ones.

Logan wanted nothing more than to tell her that if she just pulled the blankets a little closer to her chin and fluffed her pillow it would all go away. Some little part of him, too, was trying to open his eyes and watch the sunrise over Seattle. But a different part – the part that had seen a girl smash through his life and out his window one fateful night, and make him believe that twelve genetically engineered children could, in fact, escape their secret government captors – couldn't help but believe that they had gone almost twenty years into the past. _It'd be a hell of a lot easier to believe in Santa Claus, though_. "Max," he began, not knowing what would help. "We're here. We have seen. Dreams, visions, transportation, relocation, whatever you want to call it, it doesn't matter. What matters is us getting back to where we belong, okay?"

It was a long few seconds as Max simply stared at Logan, trying to mesh what he was telling her with what her mind was telling her and what was happening around her. After she felt like she'd gotten that big square peg of her situation jammed far enough into the round hole of her life, she blinked and shrugged. "Sooner the better, I guess." She thought for a moment, and then frowned at him. "How come you're so up on this hocus pocus abracadabra mumbo jumbo? Got a cousin who does slight of hand?"

It was Logan's turn to shrug. "Dated a Wiccan – a witch – in college."

"Married a witch later, I recall," she mumbled as she retook her seat. Logan rolled his eyes and grinned.

"That's w-what we are," Tara spoke up haltingly, motioning between her and Willow. "Witches." She then realized what Max had meant. "Oh. No. Not that kind. I don't mean… no. Magic-type witches."

Max looked the two girls over. Both seemed to match the Sunnydale standard she'd seen so far. Bright and… sunny. It was hard, everyone in a town looking like that. It was wreaking havoc with her internal need to blend in. Her own dark looks just didn't seem to fit well. Logan on the other hand… pretty much fit the norm. She shook off the old training and asked the witches who had finally joined them at the table, "So what were you trying to do with this spell that zapped us? Rearrange the furniture?"

Willow smiled in relief. For a short time there, she'd been worried for her safety, even though she figured that she might feel the same as Max if their situations had been reversed. "Not really. I was trying to move Buffy and Giles. Bring them here, that is."

"Why?" Logan asked.

"Well, I'd tried a similar spell before that had a bad aftertaste, so I was trying to see if I could find one that would work fine just in case Glo-" she stopped as Buffy shot her a sharp glance. "Global warming occurs and there's those icebergs that get all melty and go sploosh and sink Sunnydale or California or… somewhere," Willow amended hastily.

Max rose an eyebrow and gave a slow nod. "So they don't miss out on the good surfing with those massive tidal waves, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Willow replied meekly. She glanced at her friends out of the corners of her eyes. Buffy had a pained look on her face and Giles was carefully cleaning his glasses.

Max decided to just let it slide. _Let them keep their secrets. It's not like I don't have mine. If it's something really important, I'll get it from them… eventually._ The next question that came to mind was slightly stupid, but she figured she should ask anyway. "Since you brought us here, can't you just send us back?"

Tara and Willow looked at each other. Tara shook her head. "It was a bringing spell. It wo-won't send anywhere." She squirmed a little under Max's gaze and took a quick breath. "We, uh, from what Willow's told me, I don't… I'm not sure what went wrong. Anymore. We had ideas, but… well, you're here. I thought it had s-seemed that it was targeted dir-directly for Buffy and Mr. Giles."

"Meaning…?" Max wanted to know.

Giles stood slowly. "Meaning that we'll all have to look through the books here to see if we can locate anything that will assist in resolving your… predicament, as Logan termed it. I have several acquaintances who may be able to provide some additional assistance in the matter… I may call upon them later if the need arises. If Willow can provide me with the exact phrasing of the spell she used, my contacts could examine it for any inaccuracies." He paused and noticed that Max and Logan had matching blank looks on their faces. Realizing that they may have never considered magic in quite the same way as he and his did, he added, "It could be something as simple as a forgotten word or misplaced emphasis that may have caused the situation you now find yourselves in. My contacts my also be able to find a way to return you to Seattle. Your Seattle. In the meantime, you-" He broke off as the door flung open and a young girl with long light brown hair skipped through the doorway.

"Free at last. Free at last, thank God almighty, I-" The girl stopped short as she gaped at the unfamiliar people sitting at The Table. "I don't know you," she finished up.

Buffy began the introductions. "This is my sister Dawn. Dawn, this is Max and Logan. They're kind of visiting, kind of stuck."

Max gave a kind of half smile to Dawn. "Hey there. Nice shirt."

As Dawn's face lit with pleasure, Buffy looked to see what her reprobate sister was actually wearing. The jeans jacket she was wearing wasn't too bad. It was the black crop top underneath that was emblazoned with "Girls Kick Ass" in shining silver letters that she had issue with. "Hey! I thought Mom told you that you weren't allowed to wear that shirt to school anymore."

Dawn crossed her arms in front of her chest. She put all her weight on one hip, lifted her chin, and looked at her elder sister through slightly narrowed eyes. "Mom _asked_. She didn't tell. Besides, I think it's fine. And Max likes it." She took a couple steps closer to Max and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Buffy looked at Max, whose face had taken on a very faux innocent look as she shook Dawn's hand. "_Max_ is from the year 2020, so I'm not sure she's the best judge of local fashion." _Especially considering that her shirt is about the same size as yours_, she wanted to add, but didn't.

Dawn had perked up a bit. "2020?! Really? Does that mean you're time travelers? That is so awesome. And so much cooler than Buffy—" She stopped, her eyes getting wide as she felt her sister's fiery glare boring into her forehead.

"Who is going to kick you from here to home if you don't get an attitude adjustment. Mom doesn't need this right now, I don't need this right now, and you sure don't need it either. I just want you to be the _normal_ sister in the _normal_ family that we have," Buffy said, hoping Dawn would get the hint.

It was a different hint that Dawn had picked up. She seemed to close off a little as she plunked herself down on the steps. "Fine. I'll just sit here all invisible while you talk to your time travelers."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she turned back the table. "I asked for a puppy," she grumbled. "You were saying, Giles?"

Giles sighed. "I was saying that since it is going to take some time for us to figure out what to do with our new friends here, they may want to simply settle in for a bit."

Max threw him an exasperated look. "Settle in? Settle in where? You might notice we don't exactly have enough time to grab a tent and sleeping bags when we were _brought_ here. And we're kind of low on chips." At the slightly owlish blinks of incomprehension, she clarified, "Cash."

Dawn spoke up from her seat. "We'll help. We can find somewhere for you to go."

"I thought you were playing invisible," Anya mentioned with a expression of innocent curiosity.

"Well, since they're _here_," Dawn started with a slight glare at Anya, "it must be our fault in a way." Dawn glanced at Willow, who raised a hand in sheepish acknowledgment. "Okay, Willow's fault. You've always pestered me about being responsible for my actions, so why shouldn't that apply here?"

It was Buffy's turn to sigh. "It's not quite that simple, Dawnie. Who knows how long it'll take us to get them to where they belong? On top of that, Willow and Tara live in a college dorm, so that's out. Same thing with Xander and Anya and their little apartment. And Giles-"

"Then they can stay with us," Dawn declared.

Buffy searched for some deep and meaningful response. "Huh?"

"Please?" Dawn pleaded. "You've pretty much just said it yourself, they have no where else to go. We've got a pretty big house, bigger than any roach motel that's for sure." Not sensing the reaction she wanted, she begged, "Buffy, I'll even walk them and make sure they don't chew on the couch. Come on."

Buffy regarded her younger sister. She looked so young. A hopeful grin was resting on her face, and her eyes had lit up in anticipation of new events in her life. She seemed happier than she had been in a short while. _This might be what she needs, something else to focus on besides the fact that she's a glowing ball of energy in her natural state._ _Gotta play a bit first, though._ "How do you expect to take care of two people? You couldn't even take care of your Giga Pet."

Dawn's jaw dropped. "I took care of it fine. It loved me."

A snort, then, "It killed itself after three days."

"Buffy!" Dawn gave a small shriek in frustration. When she heard a massive sigh from the rest of the group, she looked around and saw nearly everyone rolling their eyes at the two.

Buffy sighed and pretended to ponder halfheartedly. "I don't know…." She watched as Dawn started to tap her feet in barely restrained consternation. Buffy gave a small smile, like she was giving in. "Mom's got the ultimate decision."

Dawn leaped up from the steps and bounded across the shop to grip her sister in a vice-like hug. "Yes! Oh, thank you, Buffy! Can we call Mom now?"

"No, we'll just show up at home with them. Believe me, Mom will be less likely to say no that way."

Dawn grinned and turned back to Max and Logan, who had watched the siblings' verbal duel with looks of interest and amusement. "2020, huh? Do cars fly around and computers rule the earth? Must all be pretty neat. Futuristic like."

Max gave a small shrug. "Post-apocalyptic like is the better term for it." She looked around a bit as she noticed the rest of the group stiffen up at her words. 

"What do you mean?" Buffy questioned warily. Apocalypse was always the catch phrase they talked about preventing. Never once had they discussed one that had managed to complete itself.

"Well, you know… terrorists… electromagnetic pulse…. economic chaos… everything's fucked. But hey, it's home, so what are you gonna do," Max finished out. She couldn't help but feel a little twinge of guilt as she looked at the faces around her. They looked mildly ill. She tried to shake it off. She didn't cause the Pulse, and by the looks of these people, they'd been well off. They'd learn to survive somehow. Everyone does. Did. Will. Still didn't help being the messenger, though.

Buffy however, was slightly on the relieved side. _Damn, that's sick. ' It wasn't a demon caused apocalypse? Oh, that's all well and good then.' Geez._ "Speaking of home," she began, running distraction, "we should probably be getting home so Mom knows she's got company." She stood, and turned to Giles. "Will you be around tomorrow?" At his nod, she said, "I may try to stop by and we can work on some more of that, uh, stuff." _Note to self: check thesaurus for alternative to 'stuff.' Hell, check life for alternative to 'stuff.'_

Logan had pushed back from the table and moved over to Giles to shake his hand one more time. "It was nice meeting you, Giles. Thanks for your help today," he smiled, giving a slight glance between Anya, who was muttering something to the effect of "I knew it" and Max, who had already made her way to the door to stand next to an energetic Dawn.

Giles couldn't help but grin, catching the double meaning to his words. "Anytime. You're both always welcome here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk to 1630 Revello Drive was fairly short. Max and Logan found themselves in a nice little neighborhood, with nicely trimmed lawns and picturesque houses. Max couldn't help but gape as she stared at the lovely two story home the Summers' girls had led them to. She had very distant memories of such places, briefly passed as she had ran for her life. There was something about this place that felt… welcoming somehow. She didn't quite know how else to put it, since it was such an unusual feeling. Her life had been a series of abandoned buildings, rundown shelters, and alley hideouts interspersed with the occasional warm spot. She approached the porch with a slight mixture of excitement and trepidation. Max looked down at the steps at her feet, and then looked back to Logan. Before she could say anything, Buffy looked at Dawn quickly and rushed with a slightly embarrassed, "Umm, we could get Xander to put down a ramp tomorrow morning. I'll call tonight and ask."

Logan shrugged and shook his head. "Oh, it's not that big of a deal. Max, could you just give me a little help?" She nodded and supported the back of the chair as he popped a small wheelie and kind of got up the steps with a little assistance. He turned back to his hosts and said, "See? No problem."

Buffy smiled with momentary relief. _One potentially awkward situation down, probably whole bunches to go_. She followed him up the front steps and opened the front door. "Mom!" she called. "We're home!" She turned to tell her visitors to come on in, when she saw that Max had already done so and had made her way into the living room. Buffy said sarcastically, "Make yourself at home," and turned to glance at Logan, who had a slight smile as he watched Max wander off.

A small voice was trying to tell Max that maybe it would be a little polite if she waited to be invited around the place, but she just ignored it as usual and gave herself a tour of the living area. She prided herself on being able to read people pretty well, but by the looks of this house, she sure had gotten a few things about Buffy and Dawn wrong. She'd mistaken them for average people, when it turned out they were loaded! There was a plush rug, pristine furniture, a lot of expensive looking wood things, and more than enough knick knacks and other odds and ends in the room than she could count. She couldn't help but do a mental inventory of how much she could fence it for. She was pretty damn impressed. 

"Who are you?" a voice from behind asked.

Max spun quickly. The voice belonged to an older woman standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Max was equal parts impressed and chagrined. The woman had managed to sneak up behind her without being noticed. "Max," she answered her. "Who are you?"

Buffy, Dawn, and Logan entered the room just in time to see the two women sizing each other up. Buffy said, "Max, meet Joyce Summers. My mother."

Joyce saw something in Max's eyes briefly flash before being hidden again. The girl couldn't have been much older than Buffy, but something in her looks and stance indicated more of a worldliness that her daughter sometimes lacked. Plus the jeans, crop top, leather jacket, boots, and bike gloves – all in black – indicated an added toughness to the darkness in her features. "It's nice to meet you Max…" She waited for a last name, or anything else, but none was forthcoming. She turned her attention to the other visitor in her home, a young, more friendly-seeming man in a wheelchair. 

Buffy wasn't quite sure what to do about Max, but decided to just continue the introductions. "Mom, this is Logan. He and Max are…" she looked for the right word, and deciding that Dawn's term fit the bill the best, continued, "time travelers."

Joyce continued to smile as she shook Logan's hand. "Time travelers?" She glanced at Buffy, who shrugged and nodded, and looked back to the man. "That's interesting." Joyce paused again, running through the list of oddities that had entered her house. She was pretty sure it was a first for time travelers. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

Logan and Max looked sharply at each other at the quick acceptance of their unusual circumstances. But before they could question the reaction or reply in any other way, Buffy poked Dawn sharply with her elbow. At her exclamation of pain, Buffy motioned with her chin towards their mother. Dawn gave Buffy an imploring look, to which Buffy sighed. "Uh, Mom," Buffy began, trying to use her best pleading look. Trouble was, that particular look didn't work that often. As in never. "Actually, Dawn and I, especially Dawn, were wondering if Max and Logan could _stay_ stay." She decided to just drop the pleading look and put it all out on the table. "Willow accidentally magicked them here and they have no where to go."

Dawn stepped forward. "Please, Mom? We have plenty of room here, honest. And I told Buffy I would help out with whatever they need."

Joyce's eyebrows raised with mild surprise and slight perplexity. "You told Buffy."

"It was my idea. It's just that they're broke and homeless and well, _time travelers_, Mom! Isn't that just so cool?" Dawn started bouncing a little. "Come on."

Max, not one for begging, began to look slightly uncomfortable. Logan tried to focus the attention on himself a little. "If it'll be too much trouble, Max and I can always find a motel to stay in or somewhere. We do have a little money on us, and-"

"No," Joyce interrupted. "You can stay here. I was just a little surprised by the request. I've always expected that when my girls brought home a couple strays, it might be more along the lines of a turtle or cat, not a couple of people."

A slow grin began to creep across Max's face. Joyce couldn't help but notice that it transformed her hardened look into one of, well, unusual beauty. "Stray might not be too far off base. At least in my case," Max said.

Logan tried not to react at the truth in that statement. Instead, he tried to continue the part of gracious guest. "Hopefully, we'll only be here for a few days. But we insist on helping pay for our board while we're around."

Joyce shook her head, "That's not really necessary."

It was Logan's turn to grin, as he figured he was about to get himself smacked. "Again, I insist. It's only fair… especially with the way Max eats. Which is constantly."

From the dirty look that Max shot him, he knew he was in trouble. But instead of a physical attack, she chose the verbal route. "Well, since you're obviously so concerned about my nutrition, you can make dinner for us all tomorrow night. If we're still here," she added hastily.

Logan nodded, not upset at all that she volunteered him. "That's perfectly fine with me. I love to cook."

Joyce, Buffy, and Dawn's jaws all dropped slightly. "You cook?" they chorused.

"He cooks," Max nodded proudly.

Dawn, tactless as usual, exclaimed, "Guys don't _cook_!"

Joyce looked really impressed. Then her brain began to run the logistics of adding two houseguests. "Well, we don't really have a guest bedroom on this floor, but I can set up something for the two of you to be together in here."

Max and Logan both jerked straight so quickly it started the Summers women. Their smiles left their faces as words of protest began to ring out. "Oh, we're not…uh… I mean… our relationship isn't…we're just friends… Just friends, that's right…" came pouring from the two of them.

Although Joyce realized what her faux pas was, she felt the vehemence of their reaction was a little unusual. "Well, I guess we can set up Logan on the couch in here. I'm sorry it's not a pullout."

"That's not really a problem," he told her.

"And Max…" Joyce hesitated. Not only did they not have a guest bedroom on the main floor, they didn't have one in the rest of the house either.

"Oh, I could actually just sleep out in the hall or something," Max told her, not really wanting to be trouble. And if the living room was indicative of the rest of the house, sleeping in the hall could be sheer joy.

"You're _not_ sleeping in the hall," Dawn told Max forcefully. She then turned to her mother and said just as forcefully, "Mom, she's _not_ sleeping in the hall. She's going to sleep in my room." She turned back to Max and grabbed her hand, half-pulling half-dragging her up the stairs. "Come on, I'll show it to you." Max barely had time to give Logan an amused look before she was out of sight.

Buffy and Joyce stared after the two girls and turned back to Logan. "I'll go get some pillows and other linens from the basement," Joyce told them.

"Actually, if you could show me the restroom first, I'd appreciate it," Logan said.

Joyce nodded slowly, "We do have a restroom off the garage. There's a small shower in it, too, but I don't know if…" She trailed off, unsure at how to phrase her concerns.

Logan just swayed his chair side to side a little. He said, "Why don't I just take a look at it and see if there's anything I need." Joyce led him there, and then started to head down to the basement.

Buffy quickly followed her. As soon as they were sure they were out of earshot, Joyce turned to Buffy and asked, "What is _really_ going on here? Time travelers?"

Buffy shrugged innocently. "Yeah. That's what it is. Willow was working on a spell to grab me and Giles, but… well, you know how Willow's spells go. It got a little lost and grabbed a couple of people from 2020 instead. We were trying to figure out what to do with them when Dawn volunteered us to keep them." An odd look, one that might have been called confusion with a touch of jealousy, came over her face. "I think she thinks Max is cool."

"She does, does she?" Joyce asked, understanding Buffy completely.

"I think it's because Max liked her shirt. Whatever. Probably Dawn Mood-of-the-Moment." 

Joyce grabbed a couple pillows and sheets off a shelf, and turned back to her daughter. "Obviously you gave them the OK because you brought them here."

Buffy nodded. "They seem fine. But, Mom," her voice took on a serious note, "I didn't tell them anything about the whole 'Slayer-Key-Hellmouth' thing. Just because I trust them doesn't mean I _trust_ them."

"Of course, dear," Joyce said. "Don't forget to get out the company plates." She started to walk back up the stairs when she stopped and turned back slightly. "I thought I told Dawn not to wear that shirt to school anymore."

Buffy rolled her eyes and reached up to the shelf where the "good plates" lived. "You asked. You didn't tell," she mimicked her sister, then followed her Mom upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn led Max to her bedroom. She reached the door and held the knob with a dramatic stance. "This—" she paused for effect "—is where you'll be staying." She flung open the door.

Max walked in slowly, taking in the full effect of the room. It was a pretty place, the stuff of dreams. Not Max's dreams, though. She'd never known to dream of such places. It was soft and friendly. It spoke of that mystical place between childhood and adulthood. Max wasn't sure she'd ever actually been a child. Never a normal one at least. But she could tell by the well cared for possessions – stuffed animals, pillows and curtains of gentle colors, slightly worn furniture – that Dawn had been a child that had been loved. 

As Dawn watched Max wander around the room, the girl couldn't help but notice the slightly awed look as the woman ran her fingers over the things Dawn had been collecting for years. It was almost as if it were the first time she'd seen some of the things. Max's words came back to her: _ terrorists… electromagnetic pulse…economic chaos… everything's fucked._ Dawn wasn't quite sure what "electromagnetic pulse" meant, but by the very "unhappy" word she used, and the looks on everyone else's faces, it was probably all pretty bad. She thought that maybe she could be able to get Max to tell her a little more about it, since she didn't seem quite as uptight and censorshippish as Buffy and her friends. But before she could ask anything, she saw Max run a hand lightly over a row of singed and burned notebooks stacked on a shelf. Dawn cringed.

Max paused in her perusal of the room, and turned to Dawn. "Have a few troubles here?"

Dawn sighed to herself and looked down at her hands. Here was yet another person who wanted to know about her life, which was what the notebooks – her diaries – had amounted to at one point in time. Years and years of carefully kept memories… composed in what had turned out to be only six months. Dawn felt like she wanted to just scream "I'm a freak!" so the whole world could hear and leave her alone. She wanted to tell Max that she was a mystical Key some old monks put together to hide from a skanky God who wanted to open something. But as much as she wanted to pour out her troubles, and as much as she thought Max had to be uberly awesome to at least _get_ her shirt, Dawn didn't really know her. And she'd had Buffy rattle on in her ear so often that she needed to be careful that it had finally kind of sunk in. 

Dawn sighed again and sat on the edge of her bed. She looked up at Max, prepared to give some kind of brush off reply, when she stopped. She found herself looking at a gaze that was devoid of judgment, and full of sympathy, if not a little understanding. So Dawn began to talk. "Those are my journals. I used to keep them for like ever. But… well... recently some rough stuff has come up. I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay," Max simply said and sat next to Dawn.

Dawn looked at her closely. "I mean, I really don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Max repeated.

Dawn couldn't believe that Max wasn't going to prod, pull, and pry the story out of her. Anymore, if she blinked the wrong way her Mom and Buffy were all over her, wanting to know what her problem was. So she opened up a little more. "I just… well. It was like I felt like everything I'd thought I was turned out to be a lie. And to see those lies… it was too much." She looked at Max, almost afraid to ask. Afraid her new friend would for some reason decide to run away from her. "Have you ever felt that way?"

Max's eyes grew distant for a moment before she replied. "Every time I look in a mirror." Her eyes refocused on Dawn, and Dawn could see the truth in that statement.

Dawn _knew_ that Max was uberly awesome.

They sat in silence, both thinking of a lifetime of events, however close or far away. But both were somehow comforted by the feeling that they weren't alone. They stayed that way until they were called for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy tried to just set the table and not think of how it was actually Dawn's turn to set it that night. Dawn was being a good host and entertaining. Quietly. Way too quietly. She tried to ignore the paranoia that had set in regarding her younger sister. _Glory's not the type to destroy in silence. She'd want the world to watch her magnificence… especially me_. The way Buffy figured, Dawn was probably thrilled that she'd gotten someone new to jabber at. Even though there was a big age difference between the 14 year old and the… Buffy frowned. Yet one more thing she didn't know about her guests. She figured Max really couldn't be much older than herself. Although, if she wanted to be really accurate, Max was _way_ younger than all of them. Well, whatever the age difference, she and Dawn seemed to click somehow. 

_And the same thing with Mom and Logan_, Buffy thought as she heard some laughter from the kitchen. When he had heard that Joyce worked in an art gallery, their conversation had swiftly turned to painters and sculptors and art… things. Whatever two people could say about art. It could have been worse, though. Max and Logan could have been boring, dull, unfriendly people. Or school principals. Buffy was sure she should be happy that Joyce and Dawn finally had people to talk to, especially since neither really seemed to have much of a social outlet. 

She quickly finished up the table as the sound of voices increased and Joyce and Logan came into the room. "Mmm. Smells yummy, Mom," Buffy told her as she set a large plate of pork chops on the table. Logan set out a bowl of salad and moved to the place where Buffy had removed a chair.

As Joyce started to go back to the kitchen, she said, "Buffy, would you mind getting Dawn and Max while I go get the green beans and potatoes?"

Buffy leaned out the other door of the dining room and yelled up the stairs, "Dawn! Max! Dinner!" She turned to see her mother standing there shaking her head. "What?"

"I meant go _get_ them, not use the Emergency Broadcast System," Joyce chided. Buffy shrugged and took the place next to the head of the table where her mom usually sat. The sound of footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Dawn and Max appeared. Dawn took a seat next to Buffy, and Max sat next to Logan. Joyce picked up the plate of pork chops and passed it to Max, who accepted it with wide eyed gratitude. "It's nothing fancy," Joyce said.

"But somewhat hearty, with an eye toward being well-balanced and healthy," Buffy added with a slight smirk.

Joyce narrowed her eyes playfully at her eldest. "It's nice to know you think so highly of my meals."

"Oh, God, this is amazing," Max said around a mouthful of pork chop. She took the bowl of potatoes as it was passed to her and placed a big helping on her plate. She quickly scooped up a bite, and gave a slight moan of appreciation.

Seeing three pairs of eyes staring at Max's exuberance, Logan felt compelled to explain, "It's kind of hard to get really good food where we're from. The occasional chicken, maybe, but almost never pork."

"And never pork this good," Max finished, reaching for the salad.

Knowing Joyce hadn't really been privy to Max's halfhearted description of the future, Buffy mentioned, "Economic breakdown must make it hard to get good things, huh?" She tried not to stare, but Max had already managed to clean nearly half of her plate. Logan must not have been joking about his Max and eating comment.

Max shrugged and speared a piece of lettuce. "Hard to get food, period, for a lot of people."

A silence fell over the table, only broken by the sound of silverware chiming against plates. Joyce finally decided to try to get conversation going again. "So, what do the two of you do for a living?"

Logan swallowed his bite of pork chop. Although he didn't show Max's… _enthusiasm_… for the meal, he did think it had a large lead over quality of post-Pulse food. "I'm kind of a… freelance journalist," he told her. "I work on exposing corruption." 

Joyce blinked a couple of times, and then looked at Max. "Do you do the same?"

Max almost choked on a green bean. "Hardly. I'm a bike messenger for a lame-ass business. He just manages to con me into doing a little leg work from time to time."

"He does?" Dawn asked innocently. "How?"

Max raised another green bean with her fork in a kind of toast. "Food. A bowl of pasta will buy my services for a couple hours." She tried her best not to laugh as Logan, Joyce, and Buffy all blushed slightly with the caught innuendo. Dawn, however, just nodded sagely as the double entendre sailed straight over her head. 

Then both entendres paused mid-flight. Exchanged dubious glances. Shrugged. And reversed course. When they came up behind the oblivious teenager and tapped her on the shoulder, her eyes went wide with sudden understanding. She ducked her head to hide the color creeping up her cheeks, and wished that Keys had the power to turn invisible.

"So, Dawn, how was school today?" Joyce asked, deciding to turn the topic to the mundane.

Still half-listening to the conversation with one multitasking ear, Max switched most of her attention to her food. Or at least tried to. But as she looked at her quickly dwindling second helping of potatoes, she felt like she was being watched. She tried to look at everyone surreptitiously, but she saw they were all occupied with a tale of Dawn's locker being stuck – a situation Max was often familiar with. Then she saw what was watching her.

A family portrait hung innocuously on the wall. Dawn, Buffy, and Joyce all were in it primly seated. Their clothing was immaculate, their hair was shining, and all three had sunny smiles of content and harmony. The perfect family. And, from the picture, they seemed to be staring at Max. She squirmed slightly in her seat and really tried to pay attention to the food.

A perfect dinner. Something from the meat group, a couple veggies, a starch. Max took a small, quick swig from her glass of milk – dairy. All that was missing was the—

Joyce almost leaped from her seat. "I left the rolls in the kitchen!" She quickly returned with a basket of perfect, golden rolls.

_Bread group_, Max sighed to herself, and started pushing around some of the crumbs on her plate. Perfect crumbs, of course. She heard Logan laugh a little as Buffy mentioned a similar locker tale from her high school days, involving a couple friends of hers. The same perfect looking friends she saw earlier that day, no doubt. And probably a perfect high school… Max fidgeted around a little more. All she could see was a perfect picture of a perfect family who happened to be having the perfect conversation around the perfect dinner in the perfect house located in a perfect town. 

It was slowly driving her mad.

Logan noticed that Max had grown very quiet. At first he had thought she had simply gotten absorbed in her meal. But watching her for a minute, he soon realized that she, as usual, had her full attention on everything and everyone. As he watched, he noticed her slowly finish up what had been on her plate, and start to play with the crumbs. She shifted and moved restlessly. When she briefly looked in his direction, he caught an odd look in her eyes, as though she were only three steps from snapping. He wasn't sure what the problem was, but knew it was time for a little intervention. Seeing that everyone had about finished up, he turned to Max and asked, "Would you be interested in going for a little walk? Before it starts to get too dark out?"

Max was honestly relieved that Logan noticed her twitching and offered a way out. But she wasn't going to admit that in front of everyone. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

The three Summers ladies looked at each other quickly before Buffy warned, "Just try be careful if you stay out too long past sunset. You might want to stick near here."

Max and Logan glanced at each other before Max asked, "Why?"

Buffy looked at Dawn with a slight panic. She didn't want to tell the strangers that the undead like to walk Sunnydale at night, but—

"Unfortunately, Sunnydale has been developing a little bit of a crime problem. You know, as in small town gangs," Joyce said smoothly.

"Yeah, crime," Buffy echoed, thankful that her mom could be so cool and calm while lying through her teeth. Although, from Max's brief wary look, she wasn't sure if the lie was completely accepted. She saw Max start to pick up her plate and volunteered, "You guys go ahead. Dawn and I can clear the table.

Logan smiled his thanks, and within a few minutes, they were gone.

The air seemed to clear a little as Buffy, Dawn, and Joyce relaxed from the pressure of houseguests. They were picking up plates and silverware when Joyce commented offhand, "You know, Max kind of reminds me a little of Faith."

Buffy almost dropped the potato remnants she was holding. "Faith. As in Faith, the oh so loveable yet slightly psychotic vampire slayer? Why do you say that?"

Joyce shrugged. "I don't know. Something about the way she looks I guess."

"And the way she eats," Dawn laughed. "Do you remember when Faith kept swiping Buffy's fries? That bugged Buffy more than anything."

Buffy was a little irritated when her mom joined in the laughter. "This isn't pick on Buffy night. Besides I didn't notice anything really wrong with her. Other than… what kind of girl's name is Max?"

Dawn looked at her sister. "What kind of name is Buffy?" she defended.

"Shut up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was pleasantly warm for an early February evening. Logan didn't really feel the need for a jacket, especially since he didn't have one with him. He glanced over at Max and thought that with or without the jacket, the temperature wouldn't have mattered much to her. Training or design, or both, had probably equipped her with a high tolerance to her environment. Irrelevant or not, it was still a great place to begin an uncomfortable conversation. "Nice weather here," Logan mentioned to Max.

She shrugged, and said, "I guess." Max didn't look at Logan, just kept up the slow pace.

"Not too cold… more tepid," he pointed out, trying to get her to talk a little more.

"I guess," was the same silent response.

Logan sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long walk if 'I guess' was all she would say. He gave his wheels another slight push, and tried to ignore how exhausted he was. If they were back in Seattle, he probably would have been asleep… he tried to do the mental math and failed. He would have been asleep way long before. Again, not something that would have mattered much to Max. Still, as he could feel her beginning to relax a bit, he decided the exhaustion was worth it. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, when Max spoke first.

"This is what you're trying to do, isn't it," she stated, first motioning at the neighborhood and then looking down at him.

Logan knew that even if his brain wasn't sleep deprived, that statement wouldn't have made much sense. "Trying to do what?" he asked.

"With Eyes Only. This is what you're looking for, isn't it?" She slowed her walk even more and examined the neighborhood a little closer. With dusk falling, her night vision was beginning to kick in, giving the shadows a type of clarity that she knew no one else could see. "Is this what's left when you boil the corruption away? Clean streets, homes for all?"

"Some yes," Logan said cautiously. Only a little, actually, but that was a different point for a different day. The silence between them resumed, and this time, Logan was content to leave it as such. Max would talk when she was ready. For now, he decided to enjoy the nice evening, and the simple event of her companionship.

"I feel like I'm trying to escape Manticore again," Max whispered suddenly.

Logan's head whipped around to look at her in mild astonishment. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that certainly wasn't it. Max was looking off into the distance, mostly at nothing, he presumed, and she was rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill. Or perhaps distant demons. "What do you mean?"

She stopped walking, and turned to look at him. Her dark eyes looked disturbed, almost haunted. "I'm not going to pretend I completely understand how our world works. All I know is that, when I was younger, no matter how messed up things got, I knew my place… my purpose. When things got _really_ messed up, and we had to leave, that all changed. I was out in some strange place I had never even known existed. And you don't… you can't understand how frightening that was. We were taught to adapt to situations, but it was always to situations we were taught. We were never taught about the outside world. The _normal_ outside world. I got used to it, but… Logan, I'm right back where I've started. And I have to learn how to live _again_, this time in a perfect world in a perfect house with the perfect family. God, I feel like they've got the other half a kid stashed somewhere to bring out for the really special occasions."

Logan thought carefully before replying. What to say to calm a person whose fears were real? Except… they weren't. And that was the place to begin. "Manticore doesn't exist, Max." When she opened her mouth in protest, he shook his head and quickly continued. "I know that it's _there_, has been around for a while now, but not in the way you know it. It's all tucked away in Wyoming right now and has no clue you exist. As a matter of fact, you're probably safer now than you have ever been in your entire life. For once, no one is looking for you. Yeah, you've got to be careful, to make sure you don't come up on anyone's radar. But you don't have to run anymore."

"I guess you're right," Max said.

Logan cupped a hand to his ear, "I'm what? Can you repeat that?"

Max swatted him on the shoulder playfully, and the air between them lifted. "I know you heard me the first time. I'm not going to say it again."

He flashed her a grin, and started moving again. "And about the Summers' family… they seem to be a genuinely nice group of people. Don't worry too much about them seeming too perfect. After all, it's those that seem the most perfect that tend to have the biggest skeletons in their closets."

Max unsuccessfully tried to hold back a laugh. "Don't I know it."

"Just… try not to over-think this all too much. You've got the start of several long nights ahead of you here, and it'll be bad on your brain if you spend every night stewing about it all. Just give yourself the chance to be that normal girl with the normal life that you've always wanted, at least for a few days." Logan saw her smile and they finished their walk in a comfortable silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy stepped out onto her front porch and inhaled deeply. Night had fallen. She was ready to slay. She was up for kicking some vampire butt. She was…

Oh, wait. She was _supposed_ to be playing normal.

Well, crap.

It was so habitual for her to just go out most nights to patrol that she'd completely forgotten about their visitors for a second. She stood there for several long moments, debating whether she would be able to patrol for an eensy little bit, or whether she should stay in for the evening. There was a swift tug of war between her conscience, which wanted to keep the world safe, and her need to keep up her façade.

Buffy sighed, and sat down on the steps. She jabbed the stake she'd brought out with her into the ground. The world would just have to watch out for itself for a night. Right now, she could pretend she was just out for air.

"Missed me," a British voice resonated.

"Ack!" Buffy half leaped out of her skin as a peroxide blond stepped out from the shadows. "Geez, Spike. Would you mind cutting it with the creepage already?"

The vampire moved with a swish of his long leather coat. He sat down next to her, about as close as he could get without being in her lap. He couldn't help but smirk at her as her lip curled and she tried to scoot away a bit. "Sorry, but the creep is part of the whole package. Right behind the pointy fangs and lack of pulse." He noticed Buffy seemed a little perturbed, as though she would rather be anywhere else at that moment. "So, why aren't you out trying to give my kind a good poke or two?"

"Would you like me to start with you?" Buffy asked innocently.

"Would I?" Spike leered.

"Ugh, Can you be any more disgusting?" Her nose wrinkled and her eyes squinted as she tried force the unwanted image from her mind. "And anyway, we've got company."

"Company?" Spike eyebrows lifted; the small scar across the left one seemed to pull a bit as they moved. "Great-auntie Gertie's got on your nerves enough that you needed to come out here for a spell?"

Buffy had to smile at that. "Not family type. Total stranger type."

Spike's face seemed to darken, become more dangerous. "You're out here staking evil undead earthworms while the Bit is inside alone with the unknowns? Are you daft?"

"She's fine, Spike." Buffy couldn't help but think that it was comforting he was still looking out for Dawn. "Max and Logan are staying with us for a few days, because Willow tried a new spell and—"

Spike waved her off. "The Witch botched again, eh? What's she now, 0 for 2?" He shook his ruefully. "Where're they from that they need a rest spot?"

Buffy looked at him, "2020."

"Niiiice," Spike said. "Managed to bungle not just space, but time as well? Sounds like a first for her. Better throw a party."

"Spike…" Buffy warned.

He ignored her. "So why they staying here if it was Willow's fault?"

Buffy stood and stretched a bit. Spike stood as well, and they both walked down the steps and up the sidewalk a bit. "They're here because of Dawn. Dawn met Max, seemed to take a real liking to her, and volunteered our place as home base."

"Her?" Spike gave Buffy an odd look. "Max and Logan. I thought you were talking two blokes. Not a bloke and a bint. What's 'Max' stand for?"

Buffy snorted and shrugged. "Hell if I know. The way she says it, I really don't think it stands for anything. And Max definitely isn't your average b— girl."

"Hmm. Can't wait to meet 'em. When you going to introduce me?" He walked back towards the house and tried to peep in the windows.

"Never, if I have any say about it. I think the normal family image would be a little ruined by the undead blood-sucker constantly hanging around in my shadow. Will you get away from there? They're not home right now," Buffy informed him.

"No? Where then?"

"They went for a walk," Buffy said, beginning to look concerned. "Except… they left right after dinner, and it's full dark now. They've been gone way too long." She put a hand to her chest and took a shaky breath. "Oh, God. They've been eaten." 

Spike rolled his eyes. "They have not."

"Yes, they have. I let them go out alone and now they're rotting in some demon's stomach." Buffy started to pace a bit.

Spike grabbed her arm to stop her, "They've not been eaten."

"Okay, bitten then." Buffy looked worried. "Or they've been slimed. They've been zombiedized. That's it! Zombiedized! This minute, they're—"

"Headed this way," Spike finished, grabbing her by both arms and turning her so she could see the pair coming down the road.

Buffy relaxed visibly, and then tensed again just as quickly. She gave her shoulders a wrenching twist, and then spun to look at him. "Spike, get lost!"

"_What?_"

"Hide!"

"I'm _not_ hiding. You can just introduce us good and proper, O Normal One." He smiled at her glare and barely resisted the impulse to torture her a little by throwing an arm around her. So he just put a hand on her shoulder instead and smiled at the two people coming towards them. 

Buffy would have staked him then and there if Max and Logan weren't so close. But she just gritted her teeth and smiled as Max and Logan came up to them. She reached up to her shoulder, as though she were going to pat his hand, and quickly dug her nails into his flesh. Her smile became a little broader when she heard his quick grunt of pain as he quickly pulled his hand away. "Have a nice walk?" she asked.

Max nodded as Logan smiled and said, "Very nice. It's a lovely neighborhood."

Buffy looked at Spike and said, "Spike, these are our visitors I was telling you about, Max and Logan. Max, Logan, this is a good friend of mine, Spike."

As Spike reached to shake Logan's hand in greeting, he couldn't help but be slightly awed by the introduction. Not just _friend_, but _good_ friend. And said without any trace of sarcasm. _Almost as though she meant it_, he thought. "Nice to meet you. I just stopped by to see if Buffy wanted to go for a late night cuppa, but she told me she needed to be sociable and such." He turned to the woman, and felt a small chill crawl up his spine as he locked eyes with her. "What's Max short for?" he asked.

"It's short for Max," she said curtly.

And so that answered that question.

Buffy looked at Logan and told him, "Mom and Dawn were conspiring together after you left. They decided they're going to take the two of you shopping tomorrow, so you don't have to live in the same clothes while you're stuck here. Dawn says you can repay them by adding a dessert to tomorrow night's menu."

Logan couldn't help but laugh. "We do have a little cash, but the ride will be appreciated." He looked at Max out of the corner of his eye, noticing she was still staring at Spike. Her stance was completely ridged, almost like a snake coiled to strike. He looked at Buffy again, but kept Max in his periphery. "And dessert would be great." Seeing Max somehow manage to tense a little more, he turned his head to look at her. She had kept her arms in front over her chest. _Maybe she just doesn't like the guy staring at her_, noticing that Spike's gaze hadn't broken, either. Then, in the dim light from the porch, he noticed something else. The short hairs on her arms were all standing on end.

Buffy noticed Logan trying to take quick glances at Max, before finally turning his head completely to look at her. When he continued to look, and seemed to become concerned, Buffy looked at Max. Max's lithe frame was completely stiff, as though she were tensed for a fight. And the way she kept staring at Spike…

Buffy turned to look at Spike. He was staring at Max. Which Buffy really didn't think was too strange, considering Max was a fairly pretty woman. Or beautiful. And even though Spike just happened to be dead, he was still a guy. With guy thoughts. And guy parts. And… ew. But he wasn't exactly _looking _at her. _Call me slow on the uptake, but something weird is going on here_.

Logan couldn't help but think the same thing. And to have another incident like the one earlier with Anya was not something Logan was interested in after one of the longest days in his life. So he gently placed a hand at the small of Max's back, and waited until she looked at him. "I'm exhausted," he told her truthfully. "Why don't we head on in and try to get some sleep?" She nodded, and with parting glance to Spike, she turned. Logan looked at Spike and said, "It was nice meeting you" and followed her inside.

The mood now broken, Buffy looked at Spike. "What the hell was all that about?"

Spike took a deep breath. Or acted like he did, since "breathing" wasn't actually something he did. "The girl's not what she seems," he said, glancing at the door, to make sure they were completely gone.

Buffy snorted. "Come on, Spike. It usually takes a little more than four words to come to that conclusion." The she saw that his face completely lacked a trace of the usual snideness. "You're serious. Max really wigged you out. Why?"

Spike looked uncomfortable. "Not quite sure why." He seemed to shake it off. "I'd get back in there with the fam, if I were you, since Normal Buffy wouldn't be hanging out here with the likes of me." He turned and began to walk away.

Buffy called after, "Abnormal Buffy wouldn't either."

He turned and smiled. But before he disappeared into the shadows, the smile fell and Buffy heard him say, "I'd keep a close watch on that girl. There's something not quite right about her." And he was gone.

Buffy stared at the darkness, trying to figure out what exactly had happened between everyone in such a short time. Suddenly, a tiny thought flitted across her brain. It was so absurdly obvious, Buffy wondered why she hadn't considered it before. Small clues and events began to add up to evidence. From an athletic physique to a near fight with a demon. From a passing comment by her mom to a freaked out vampire. And why had Giles and Buffy been replaced _specifically_ by Max and Logan?

__

No. No way. There is no way Max could be a Slayer.

Is there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	6. Chapter 5: Mistaken Identities

A/N: I swear, I didn't mean for so much time to go by before I got another chapter posted. Blame college. So, as repayment, it's twice as long as the last chapter.

Chapter 5 – Mistaken Identities

_ February 10, 2001  
___

_ Buffy studied the landscape before her. Snow lay deep on the ground – a thick, cold shroud of white. She heard a crack, and a splash of water. She turned to try to see where the sound had originated, but instead, all she noticed was the cold feel of the snow on her bare feet and the slight squishiness of it between her toes. "Where are my shoes?" she wondered aloud._

"Watch," came a voice from behind. The sound of dogs barking seemed to echo his words.

Buffy turned and saw Giles standing there. She noticed that, unlike her, he had his shoes. "Watch what?" she asked.

"It is your turn to be the watcher," he intoned, emotionless. There was a sound of feet running, crunching through the snow…

Buffy opened her eyes. A chill ran through her body and she pulled her comforter around herself a little tighter. That dream again. Her mind felt ravaged by the images pressing in on it, but she couldn't remember what they all were. This time she could remember more of the dream through the haze of waking up, but… it didn't eliminate the faint feeling of terror that had her heart racing. She sat up slowly, and tried to get her brain to settle before she faced the rest of her day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan was thoroughly enjoying the morning newspaper, for a change. In Seattle, the newspaper was more often than not a tool for his Eyes Only investigations. The glowing reviews given to sector police for controlling the rabble, or to a politician for his supreme generosity, were often clues that things were not all on the up and up. Also, there was a noticeable lack of editorials. 

In the _Sunnydale Press,_ however, not only was free speech given full reign, but accountability seemed to be given to all the correct parties, whether good or bad. The articles were also mildly humorous. "Canine Crook Cops Cop's Cap" was probably his favorite of the day. Although, the furor over a potential 0.2% increase in gasoline tax was running a close second…

He folded the paper, set it aside, and took another bite of the eggs he had scrambled for himself that morning. He had offered to make some for Joyce as well, but she declined, saying she wasn't much of a breakfast eater. So he watched as she bustled around the kitchen, waiting for the rest of the household to wake up. _Well, Max is most likely already awake._

He couldn't for the life of him figure out why she hadn't made an appearance when she had heard the noise of people moving around. Logan was pretty certain she wouldn't have slept last night, even with the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day. She had been too wired after their walk and meeting with Buffy and Spike.

Spike. Very unusual name for a very unusual friend. Logan had never seen Max so spooked as when she met the man. If she'd had any more feline traits than she did, she probably would have been hissing and spitting. _Although, she really didn't seem too far from doing that._ Logan chuckled to himself at the thought.

"Glad someone's in a good mood this morning," Buffy said as she entered the kitchen slowly. She was still feeling sluggish, possibly due to the extra sleep she'd gotten from the night of no slaying, or maybe that stupid dream. She looked around the kitchen and saw that her mother and Logan were the only two people there. She walked over to give her mom a kiss. "Mornin', Mom. Dawn and Max not up yet?"

"Not yet," Joyce said, handing Buffy a cup of fresh coffee. "Do you want me to make you something for breakfast?"

Buffy inhaled a long, deep breath. "Logan's eggs smell really good. You must not have made them, did you, Mom?" she asked slyly.

Logan laughed as Joyce narrowed her eyes playfully at her daughter. "Very funny. See if I make you eggs anymore," she said.

"I'll let you make them for me this morning. Don't want to spoil Logan's cooking skills for dinner." Buffy knelt down to get the toaster out of a cabinet. While her back was turned, she heard the kitchen door open. 

Max stealthily eased through the barely open back door, keeping a lookout for any overly nosy neighbors. Satisfied that she hadn't been observed, she let out a sigh of relief, and closed the door. She turned and… "Uh, hi. Good morning." Max's froze instantly, an expression on her face like a deer caught in headlights. She had totally expected to sneak in the house before anyone was up. _Definitely running later than I thought_.

Logan looked up from his eggs, and his jaw dropped. Seeing Max coming in from outside, he knew exactly why she hadn't gotten up. She hadn't even been there. He was about to make a comment, when he saw her shift nervously, causing the morning light to illuminate her face. There was a sharp _clink_ as he set his fork down hard on his plate. "What did you _do_ to yourself?" he asked.

Buffy stood when she heard Logan. She looked at Max and saw a large bruise that spread across her cheekbone. Except… Buffy had seen a lot of bruises in her time – many of them on her own body. Max had only had about ten hours during which she could have gotten that bruise, since Buffy knew that it wasn't there before that. But somehow it was already the color of a bruise that had been healing for several days. _She heals just as fast as I do_, Buffy thought.

Max was desperately trying to figure out what to say. Normal people slept. She didn't. The way she figured, she had two choices: a good lie or a mediocre lie. She looked at Logan, who was giving her a look of consternation and concern. She sighed. Then there was that annoying third choice: the truth. She rolled her eyes at herself. There really was no need for this debate, since she obviously was no saint. She opted for the truth. She shrugged offhandedly, "Got in a bit of a fight."

"Where?" Logan demanded. He had somehow known she wouldn't be able to stay out of trouble for one night.

"At a bar. 'The Fishbowl' or something like that. I, uh," Max saw the looks on Joyce and Buffy's faces and decided that now was the time to lie, "had some problems sleeping. Woke up early. So I decided to catch the Sunnydale scene. Managed to score a little cash while I was out." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a roll of cash and held it out to Logan, who looked at it like she was holding out a dead rat. "Take it," she said forcefully. He looked at it a little longer, then looked at her. She could read the exasperation in his face. Max rolled her eyes and tossed the money onto the table in front of him. "Fine. You don't have to touch it. If you want to try to buy a shirt with your $50 and worthless credit cards, not my problem." She turned to Joyce and pulled out another small roll and held it out to her. "This is our first night's meal and a couple days rent. A hundred for you."

Joyce's eyes widened in mild astonishment. "Max, this is too much for just a few days," she began.

Max hissed a large breath of frustration. "I don't know what it is with you people. Just… take it, Joyce. Please. Use it for food or… whatever. If you don't take it, I'll figure out a way that you get it and don't know it."

Joyce smiled and took the cash. "Thank you."

Logan, too, had slowly reached for the money Max had thrown at him. "Where did you get all this?" he asked.

"Got in a good poker game. Wiped the table." Max laughed. "Some of those people bring new meaning to the phrase 'Living your life in a fishbowl.'"

"Poker? That's it?" Logan had a really difficult time believing that.

A slow grin began to show on Max's face. "That and a bar fight. Dude took exception to me winning large. He tried to throw down. Made a couple extra by kicking his ass." Logan knew better. He figured she'd probably picked a few pockets while kicking his ass as well, but decided not to comment on it. Buffy could only be relieved that Max hadn't run across any of the bars that demons were fond of frequenting.

Joyce in the meantime had come over to look at Max's bruise. She looked concerned as she said, "That must hurt. I can get you some ice."

Max shook her head. "No thanks. It's fine."

Joyce turned back towards the stove. "Let me make you some breakfast then," she offered.

Max looked a little confused at the offer. Although, Logan _was_ always offering to cook her food as well. _Must be some whack rich people thing_, she decided. "That's all right," she said. "I'm used to fending for myself." She opened the refrigerator and quickly found a pork chop that had escaped being eaten the night before and some left over potatoes. She put it all on a plate, stood at the counter and began to eat, without heating anything. Buffy was about to comment when she heard the front door open. 

"Hello? Anyone around?" she heard the voice of her friend Xander call out.

Buffy called back, "In the kitchen, Xander."

He began talking long before he entered the room. "I just stopped by to put down that ramp you asked for, Buff." He walked into the kitchen. "It needs to be tested, but it should be-" Xander stopped as soon as he saw Max. He blinked twice, swallowed, and finished, "Fine. Very fine. Couldn't get any finer."

Logan decided to take pity on Max and drew the young man's attention away from her chest. He turned and moved right in front of Xander, holding out his hand. "I really appreciate that, Xander. Thank you very much for coming here so quickly."

Xander shook Logan's hand very slowly, desperately trying to keep his eyes from darting back and forth from Logan to Max. "Yeah. No problem. Nice to meet you. Both of you." His eyes found Max's face once more, and seemed to lock themselves in place. "You, too," he told her.

"Feeling's mutual," Max said dryly.

Buffy walked over to Xander and stood next to Logan, trying to block some of the view. "How's Anya?" she asked.

Xander blinked. "Who's Anya?" he misrepeated. Then the numbed neurons resumed function in his brain. "Anya! Anya my girlfriend. Who I live with!" He blinked a few more times and he desperately focused in on Buffy. "Anya is my girlfriend who I live with and she's just fine and at the Magic Box right now which is where I should probably be going before she realizes I've been here too long and does painful things to sensitive parts of my body and I'll talk to you later!" He yanked the kitchen door open and made his hasty escape.

Max lifted a single eyebrow and looked at Buffy, who seemed quite apologetic. "You creep with the strangest people," Max told her.

"Don't I know it," Buffy replied. "I can only hope he remembers to roll his tongue back in his mouth before he sees Anya." Hearing Max's snort of amusement, she was glad that Max seemed to take it in stride.

"Boy needs a cold shower," Max said. She mumbled, "As if there's any other kind." She finished up the rest of her "breakfast," having not let Xander interrupt her at all. 

Logan cocked his head and looked at her, "Speaking of showers, I'm surprised you haven't taken one yet, considering they have hot water here and all."

Max stopped her walk to the sink and looked at Logan. He could almost imagine her ears perking up, rather like a cat hearing a can opener. "Hot water?" she repeated.

Joyce looked between the two of them, not fully understanding the importance of the conversation. "We've got plenty of hot, running water here."

Max half threw her plate on the counter and dashed out the door and up the stairs, almost knocking over Dawn, who was sleepily making her way down, in the process. Dawn looked after her for a minute before going into the kitchen and asking the laughing group, "Where's the fire?"

Logan barely managed to say, "In the shower," which set off Joyce and Buffy again. Seeing the teenager's look of confusion, he shook his head. "Never mind. Good morning, Dawn." 

She smiled. "Good morning. It's good to see you." She thought about what she had just said and frowned. "I guess… or, uh… maybe it's not good to see you? I'm sorry you're here. Except that doesn't sound right either. Maybe—"

"Dawn." Joyce put a hand on her youngest daughter's shoulder. "Logan understands." She looked at Logan, who was trying his best not to laugh at the girl and hurt her feelings. "You asked about a stool for the shower. I can get that for you now, if you want."

Logan nodded. "That'd be great. Thanks. I could really use a shower."

Buffy and Dawn quietly ate their breakfast until Joyce had gone upstairs and Buffy heard the water running in the main floor shower. Buffy tried to slip casually into detective mode. "So, Dawn, what'd you and Max do last night?"

Dawn looked up from her corn puffs. "What? What'd we _do_?" She seemed confused. 

Buffy stood, rinsed her plate, and leaned back against the counter. She shrugged. "Just that… I mean… did she say anything… weird?"

Dawn took a long drink of milk while staring at her older sister. "She said a flock of flying monkeys will eat Las Vegas in two years."

"She did?!" Buffy mentally slipped into Slayer mode, trying to work out the logistics. "But I thought we already had those. At the school play that one ti—" She stopped as the rational part of her brain caught up to the conversation. "Dawn, I'm serious!" She glared at her laughing sister.

"I can't believe you actually even _considered_ that. Now _that_ is weird," Dawn managed to gasp out between giggles.

Buffy stared at Dawn until she stopped laughing. "I'm not trying to be funny here, Dawn. I just want you to let me know if Max says or does anything that's not normal. It's important."

Dawn stood, quiet. She put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and shut the door with a slight slam. "You know, I realize Max is older than me, but she's nice. And she's my friend. As someone that people love to flock to, you probably don't get that I'd actually like to keep a friend of my own for a change. And that doesn't happen by playing spy."

Realizing she'd hit a nerve she hadn't exactly known was there, Buffy tried to extract her foot from her gullet. She touched Dawn on the arm. "Dawn, I didn't mean—" 

"Whatever." Dawn jerked her arm away. "I'm going to go get in line for the shower." She began to leave the room, but stopped at the doorway. She turned her head slightly towards her shoulder and said, "I don't think she slept last night. Max, I mean. She was awake when I fell asleep and gone when I woke up. Doesn't really say much, I know. It just made me… wonder." Buffy opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Dawn was already gone.

Buffy stood in the center of the kitchen, silent, unsure what to think. No sleep… not exactly a Slayer trait. Buffy slept as often as possible, like most young people. Sure, her hours might seem a little backwards at times, but… Buffy decided that would be best left to later discussion and went to get ready for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max watched the world speed by through the window of the Summers' Jeep Cherokee. The view felt a little like her life at the moment – a solid blur of speeding colors and flashing images with the occasional stoplight to slow everything down and pull things into focus. She wanted tell everything and everyone to hang on for two seconds while she figured out what was going on.

Instead, she was going shopping.

Logan almost seemed to be enjoying himself. The banter was friendly and social. Calming, in a way. Which may have been why it was starting to grate on her nerves. 

"Where exactly are we going?" she interjected into the exchange.

Joyce looked at her in the rearview mirror and gave a slight shrug. "I'd figured we'd go to Wal-mart or Target. That way you—"

"Mom, you can't make them shop at Wal-mart! I think they've been punished enough by coming here. And you want to make them discount shop on top of that? That's just cruel." Dawn turned in the front seat to look back at Max, glancing down at the clothes she was wearing. "The mall would probably have something more to your style, anyway."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "This coming from the girl who earns how much money to buy her own clothes?"

Max raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the interplay between mother and daughter. Before she could comment, Dawn spoke up again. "Well, we could go to the mall first, and if stuff is too expensive or they can't find anything, then we could take them to Wal-mart. They'd probably want to get toothbrushes and socks and… and… stuff there anyway. And dinner. Logan's got to find dinner."

"Mall it is, then," Joyce relented, taking a left turn. 

Max leaned over close to Logan. "What's a Wal-mart?" she whispered.

As softly as he could, knowing she'd be able to pick up his words, he whispered back, "A pre-Pulse chain that went under in 2011. It's…" he stopped and grinned. "I think it's something you should see for yourself."

She frowned at him a little, then turned back to the window. Seconds later, she had pressed her face close to the glass. "What the hell happened there?" she exclaimed. 

Joyce and Dawn were puzzled until what Max was looking at came into view. Then they simultaneously paled. "That's the old high school," Dawn said.

Max examined the burned out hulk of a building as they drove past. It was the first thing she had seen in Sunnydale that seemed remotely familiar: something half-destroyed and in obvious need of bulldozing. "Well? What happened?"

Joyce was silent for a moment before responding, "Graduation day prank and a fire got out of control." This, to her, sounded much better than the more truthful version: Graduation day snake when the Mayor got out of control.

"Buffy graduated from there," Dawn added softly, not wanting to remember the events leading up to that day. After a few seconds, the high school was out of sight and the mall was coming in distant view.

Max shrugged and continued to look at the scenery. "Hmm. Just wanted to know. Seemed like something from our time." She turned to Logan and the corners of her mouth twitched. "A few good riots will do much the same thing as that fire seems to have. And actually, there was that one riot, a few years ago that—"

"Max," Logan interrupted. "Maybe it's better if we don't say too much about our time." Something in the back of Logan's mind protested about the general oddness of that statement, but he quickly moved on. "You know, to preserve what happens or… something."

Max stared at him for a long minute, and Joyce sensed that there was some underlying conversation taking place that she was missing. Finally Max slowly blinked and turned to look straight ahead as they pulled into a parking space. "Whatever. You know, I think your Uncle Jonas was right. You did watch too much X-Files as a kid." 

He just grinned at her as Joyce shut off the engine and they all climbed out of the car. He transferred himself to his wheelchair and wheeled around to Max was standing. She was completely motionless, with a slightly shell-shocked look on her face, staring out at the sea of cars. Logan wasn't even sure if she was breathing. He moved in front of her and said her name loudly to get her attention. "Max." No response. "Max," he repeated. 

She looked down at him. Then she looked around the lot again. Then she looked at Joyce and Dawn who were staring at her. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't apologize. Actually, I was just thinking that I shouldn't worry about you saying anything, because your face pretty much gives you away whenever you see something unexpected." Logan saw surprise flash through her eyes and just as quickly be camouflaged. He lowered his voice and moved a little closer to her. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes. I just figured that some of this would be a little more familiar to you than it seems to be."

"Some is, but…" she looked at the other two women. "Maybe we should talk later." 

As they entered the mall, Max noticed Dawn slowly shifting from one foot to the other, as though she was trying not to say something she really wanted to. Max tried to imagine herself in the young girl's position. She couldn't help but smile when she figured out what Dawn had to be thinking. "Why don't we split up?" Max suggested. "That way we'd get done faster." She knew she'd hit the bull's-eye when Dawn gave a relieved smile. Even Max knew that no teenager wanted to shop with her mom and a guy.

Joyce nodded in agreement. "Sounds fine to me. I have a few errands to run. Would an hour be enough to meet back?"

Logan looked at Max. "Enough for me. Good for you?" Seeing her answering shrug, he replied, "Good. Have fun."

As they separated, Joyce and Logan alone, and Dawn going with Max, Max couldn't help but turn and call to Logan, "Stay away from the high end stuff."

Logan looked over his shoulder and called back, "Keep an eye on her hands, Dawn. I want to see all your receipts." Logan and Max mock glared at each other in parting, and continued on their way.

Dawn dragged Max pretty quickly through the mall, finally settling on a store that seemed to have at least some clothing with an "urban" theme. Max had made a beeline for the sales rack, and in under 3 minutes had found a pair of pants and a shirt that she figured would work well. She turned to walk to the cash register, and almost ran into Dawn, who was standing directly behind her with a look of amazement on her face. "What are you doing?" Dawn asked.

Max looked down at the clothes she was holding and then back up to the girl. "Going to the register. I'm done."

Dawn's brow furrowed. "You can't be done. We just got here. And all you've got is a pair of pants and a shirt."

Max looked at the clothes again, trying to figure out what she could possibly have done wrong. "Well… yeah. Pants and shirt. There's a pretty decent spread here. Cheap, too. But it's not like I need to be all macked out or anything." She made another a move to go pay, when Dawn grabbed her arm to stop her. Max looked down at the hand and slowly looked at Dawn.

Dawn quickly jerked her hand back, unsure about the look in Max's eyes. "All I meant was… I can't believe you're going to pass up on the chance for a new wardrobe."

"It's not like I'm going to need it, Dawn. We're only going to be here for a few days."

"How do you know?" Dawn asked. "You could be here longer."

Max grew very still as her mind became troubled. _We've been assuming that we'd be able to figure out what's up, and be able to get back to our familiar hellhole. What if we're here longer? Two days? Three? A week? What if…_ Max quickly shook off the thoughts from her racing brain and gave Dawn a half-smirk. "You just want me to get more stuff so when we get unzapped, you can have all of it."

Dawn shrugged. "We're the same height. I'd fit into your stuff better than Buffy would, since she's at least a few inches shorter than either of us."

Max really couldn't fault her logic. As she started to pick up a few more things, she asked, "Do you always get your way?"

"Just when it comes to you, apparently."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Magic Box, Buffy was trying to bring a little order to the Scooby Gang, who were babbling on about nothing of any importance. Like usual. "Okay, people, I realize that you'd much rather discuss who's going to get thrown off the island this week, but if I could just have a few minutes of your time, you can get back to your fascinating conversation about rats and worms."

Silence fell. Xander, Anya, Willow, and Tara looked mildly abashed at the reminder of the real reason they had come together. Giles, however, nodded approvingly.

"So, Buff, we gonna pop a look at the ol' books?" Xander asked.

She hesitated. "Well, actually, not yet. A bigger problem has come up."

Anya blinked. "A bigger problem? As if poofing a pair of people wasn't big enough?"

"Well, yeah, okay. That was pretty bad." Buffy looked at Willow quickly. "No offense."

"No offense taken. It was a pretty big Not Good." Willow's face gave the impression that she'd become used to the idea of what she'd done. "So what's the new deal? Big Bad around? Vamps? Apocalypses? Apocalypsii? No, wait. Maybe that's apocalii? You know, we never did settle on a term. I mean, what if—"

"Focus, Sweetie," Tara interrupted with a pat on her arm.

Buffy felt like she was already loosing control, so she went right for the point. "I think Max is a slayer." Somehow, the room managed to become even more silent. "Not exactly the reaction I was expecting."

"Uh, it's just that I don't think that was the doom, death, and damnation we were all expecting," Xander pointed out.

"What exactly brought you to this conclusion, Buffy?" Giles asked.

"Well, last night, Max and Logan kind of met Spike, and Spike kind of rubbed Max the wrong way," Buffy told them.

Anya blinked. And blinked again. "Well. That was an unexpected and rather unpleasant mental image."

Xander waved the thought off and leaned towards the group. "Setting that aside, who _hasn't_ Spike rubbed the wrong way?" He blinked as he realized what he'd. "Boy did_ that _come out wrong."

Willow and Tara began to snicker at Xander's words, but quickly tried to calm themselves down when Buffy glared at them. "Spike thinks that there's more to Max than she's showing." 

Xander ducked his head a little to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

Buffy rolled her eyes, "Does anyone here have their head on straight today? He said that we should keep an eye on her, that 'something's not quite right about her.'"

Giles looked up from where he was cleaning his glasses and asked, "Aside from Spike's intuitions, is there anything else that is leading you to this conclusion?"

"Well…" Buffy pondered for a second. "Mom and Dawn seemed to notice her resemblance to Faith, right off. And she apparently went out of the house last night. When she got back this morning, she had a bruise on her face. A bruise that was half healed. Seems like she got in a fight with someone or… or some_thing_, even. And she sure seems to have the physique for it."

"She sure does," Xander agreed wholeheartedly. Anya's head whipped around to look at him and her right eye began to twitch rapidly.

Buffy ignored them both. "And Dawn said that she's pretty sure Max never slept last night."

"That's not exactly a slayer trait, Buffy," Giles pointed out.

Buffy sighed heavily. "I know, I know. But it isn't exactly normal, either."

"Oh, yeah. Because the Slayer, Watcher, witches and demon are the top experts on normal, right?" Xander asked sarcastically.

Buffy could only respond with a scalding glare and a muttered, "Well, duh."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Pink."

"It's cute."

"It's pink."

"It's cheap."

"It's _pale_ pink."

"It'd look nice on you."

"Dawn, it's _pale_ _pink_ and it's got little flowers around the edge. Put it back. _Now_." 

Max was still trying to figure out exactly how she'd let Dawn con her into the dressing room to actually try on the clothes Max had picked out. And while she was in there, Dawn seemed to keep finding something else for Max to try. She tended to acquiesce, for the most part, but had to put her foot down at pink. Dawn gave a little disappointed sigh and left the dressing room. 

Max turned back to the mirror. It had been a long time since she'd really taken a look at herself. Her hair was beginning to lose some of the curl from the length it had been putting on. The tanned skin was starting to stretch over her cheekbones a bit due to weight she'd lost. Too much going on in her life before she'd left to worry about taking care of herself, and after she'd left…

"Okay, you have got to try this dress on!" Dawn called cheerfully as she swung the dressing room door open and bounded through.

Max looked at her like she had gone mad. "A dress? Are you out of your mind? Exactly when am I going to wear a dress? Hell, Dawn, I hardly ever wore a dress before I came to this place."

Dawn gave Max a look of frustration. "Come on. I'm not saying you have to buy it and model it, just try it on. For fun," she pleaded.

Slowly reaching for the dress, Max nodded. "For fun." She waited until Dawn left the dressing room, stripped to her skivvies, and pulled the dress over her head. She then decided that aside from the pale pink flowery shirt, the girl must have some taste floating around somewhere. The dress was gorgeous. A simple, flowing column of a muted silver, hanging straight nearly to her ankles. A quick turn revealed that the back was an intricate webbing of thin satin cords. The dress fit almost like a second skin around her torso, enhancing the figure her good genes had given her. As she turned back, she vaguely wondered when the last time she wore a dress was.

You look beautiful in it. The words floated through her mind like a gentle caress. Words from another time and place.

"Are you done yet?" Dawn asked as she barged back through the door. She stopped and blinked as she looked at Max. "Oh," she breathed. "I knew it'd be nice." Max didn't respond, just continued staring in the mirror at something Dawn couldn't see. Dawn moved slightly, and caught a glimpse of Max's expression. She looked so wistful, making her appear much younger. It made Dawn's heart ache to see her looking like that, so she tried to turn her attention away from whatever she was thinking about. Moving closer to her, Dawn spoke up, "You could get some of those healed sandals. You know, the really strappy kind that go up the leg a bit? Maybe an ankle bracelet or something." Max's eyes met Dawn's in the mirror, and both smiled, Dawn tremulously and Max's merely a trace. Dawn decided to take that as a good sign and continued. "You have such pretty hair. It'd look nice if you wore it up like—"

Dawn stopped with a slight yelp as Max spun quickly, grabbing the hand that was reaching for her hair. Neither made a movement for several seconds. Max finally let go of Dawn's hand and said simply, "Please don't touch me." The last thing she needed was a barcode sighting. She quickly stripped the dress off, not even caring that Dawn was still in the room.

Dawn gaped, alarmed at the cold look that had appeared in Max's eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Max tried to ignore the fear that she had seen. Tried to ignore the fact that she had overreacted a bit and put it there. She took a deep breath to compose herself, dressed quickly, and pulled on her boots. She reached down and picked up the dress, which now lay crumpled on the floor. Handing it to Dawn, she neither acknowledged the action nor the apology and merely said, "I think I'm done. Why don't you put that away while I go pay, and then we'll see what trouble Logan's gotten himself in." She walked out the door, leaving Dawn clutching the dress close to her chest.

Both girls were silent as they reunited with Logan and Joyce. Logan, it seemed, had the same idea as Dawn. He, too, had several large shopping bags. Logan noticed that something seemed a little strained between the two girls, but said nothing, just took a couple of their bags and added them to the ones in his lap as they headed back to the car. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh. Oh, dear. That's not good, is it?" 

Willow was examining her notebook with an ill expression on her face. She couldn't take her eyes off the spell she had written down. "Uh, Giles, you guys might want to take a look at this. It's the spell I wrote down so you could send it to… whoever you were going to send it to." She slid it across the table with a trembling hand and tried to calm down her flip-flopping stomach.

Giles and Buffy scooted their chairs a little closer to each other to read the spell. Willow watched and waited as they simultaneously mouthed the words and stopped when they reached the line "Warrior of the people and her Guide." They looked up at Willow. They looked at the paper again. Then they looked at each other. "Well, that ain't good," Buffy commented. "Do I need any more evidence, Giles?"

Xander slowly raised his hand. "Uh, excuse me. I hate to ask for fear of recrimination and ridicule, but what is wrong with Max being a Slayer? Two's better than one, right?"

"Maybe if she's like Buffy and not homicidal like Faith was," Willow added.

"Well, I wouldn't think it'd be a problem if the Slayer let the other Slayer know that she's a Slayer," Buffy said. "I guess. Unless she doesn't know about me?"

"Everyone knows you," was the chorus from the group.

"There is the fact that their world is significantly different than ours. She might not have the same access to information that Buffy does," Giles pointed out.

Buffy nodded. "You should have seen the look on her face when she heard we had hot water. You'd have thought she found gold."

"So… now what?" Willow asked.

"Now, I send this spell to my friend of mine Madagascar, and the rest of you should begin looking to see what we can find," Giles directed as he stood.

Buffy briefly debated bringing up her dream, thinking it might possibly be related, but the thought of telling everyone she dreamed about Giles was just too creepy so she simply picked up a book and began to read. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max finally broke the uncomfortable silence that was hanging heavily in the air. Seeing the "Super Wal-mart" sign on the building, she couldn't help but ask, "What's so super about Wal-mart?"

She soon found out.

Logan could see Max's mood do a serious one-eighty. He had never seen her so giddy as she stared up at a tower of toilet paper and said, "Logan, have fun at the Summers' tonight. I've decided to stay here." Dawn let out a surprised shriek as Max grabbed her hand and pulled her over to another display. "Toothpaste! Dawn, it's toothpaste. Real toothpaste that comes in a tube!"

Dawn couldn't stop beaming, knowing that she'd somehow been forgiven for whatever she'd done wrong earlier. "What's so special about toothpaste?" she asked, laughing.

"Try brushing with baking soda and peppermint oil and ask me that again."

Logan interrupted the girls by saying, "Why don't we get the rest of the stuff we need first before we take a look at food?"

"They have food here?" Max asked, smiling slowly.

"Everything," Dawn replied.

"Well, let's go."

They reunited about ten or fifteen minutes later in front of a freezer case of chicken. Logan couldn't help but stare at Max, completely enamored by the expression of childlike glee on her face as she ran her hands over rows of plastic wrapped chickens. "Logan," she breathed. "I have never seen so many chickens in one spot in my life." She frowned. "Why are they all wrapped like this?"

"People don't fight over them here like they do in our time, so chicken often sits for a few days. Plastic keeps bacteria and other junk out."

Max just stared at him for a second. "I can't believe they can sit here for that long without anyone buying them." She looked to her left, then to her right, then back to Logan. "Guess I won't have to get into any fist fights over them either, huh. Nobody seems to want them."

Logan just grinned in reply. He started ticking off ingredients on his fingers. "We'll need to find rice, cashews, honey, orange juice, fresh vegetables, maybe a few other things. For dessert, I was thinking of a chocolate mousse, so we'll need to get things for that as well. Joyce, you'll tell me if there are any spice and such you already have, so I don't overload you? Don't want to get too much of something I'll only use a bit of."

"Sounds sensible," Joyce agreed.

He turned to Max to ask her a question, and noticed that she'd disappeared. Completely, it seemed. He glanced around, but didn't see her in sight. "Did you see where Max went?" he asked Dawn.

Dawn turned, suddenly noticing that Max wasn't by her side. She quickly looked down a few of the nearby isles and said, "I wonder where she's gone."

Logan shook his head. "Probably just wandering, looking. She'll catch up with us later."

The trio made their way to produce. Logan himself was almost in awe of the crisp, fresh texture, vivid color, and low price of every vegetable he picked up. He was in the process of choosing red peppers when Max made her reappearance by the produce. 

"Everything okay?" Dawn asked.

Max just shrugged. "Yeah. Just seeing if this place really had everything. Sure seems like it." She smiled. "Remind me to ask Willow if she can send a truck back with us. I think I can make a minimum of 600% profit on motor oil alone."

Dawn smiled. "This is definitely one of the coolest places of our time."

Logan ran a quick glance over everything in the cart, checking it against his mental inventory. "Well, I think we have everything. Ready to leave?"

As they approached the check out lanes, Joyce and Dawn groaned. "God the lines are _huge_ today!" Dawn grumbled.

Joyce sighed. "It is a Saturday." She glanced up and down the rows, trying to see where the shortest line would be.

Max and Logan both had blank looks. "What line?" Max asked. "You think this is long?"

The Summers women just looked at her. "Yeah," Dawn replied. "We'll probably have to wait ten minutes just to get to a register."

Max could only smile as thoughts of a half day's wait for gas came to her mind. _Differences. What they take for granted._ To her, the lines seemed to move quickly, and they were soon on their way back to the house.

Once they were there, everyone grabbed a couple of bags, climbed out of the car and shut their doors. As they approached the house, Joyce realized she wasn't holding her keys. She checked her pockets, then her purse. She then looked forlornly at the Jeep. "It figures. The one day we have double the people and quadruple the bags, I lock the keys in the car." She turned as she heard the sound of a throat clearing and saw Max standing with the front door open. Joyce blinked. "Did I leave it unlocked?"

Max smiled and shook her head. "I'll just drop my bags in the house and then get your keys out of the car in flat time." She disappeared into the house.

Joyce looked at Logan. He just shrugged and replied, "That's Max," and followed Joyce in as the young woman they were discussing bounded out of the house.

Buffy returned just in time to see Max at work on the car door. She stopped and stared as she watched the woman deftly maneuver two small pieces of metal into the lock and quickly lift the handle, opening the door. "Uh… what are you doing?" Buffy asked.

Max reached into the car, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and turned. "Getting Joyce's keys." She locked and shut the doors.

Buffy could only keep staring. "Oh. Okay."

Max smiled at her and leaned against the car for a second. "Glad you could make it back early. Logan's about to start cooking dinner."

"Oh he is?"

Max nodded sagely. "The man can do wonders with a chicken." She turned and walked back to the house.

Buffy tried to keep her jaw from dropping any further. "Do you do that on purpose or is my mind really that dirty?"

Max turned at the door, lifted an eyebrow, and went inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy quietly slid her bedroom window open and eased herself out onto the ledge of the roof underneath, trying to be careful not to wake any of the occupants in the house. _Been a while since I've done that_, she thought fondly. _Not having to sneak out without Mom knowing and being able to use the door has spoiled me._

She didn't move to climb to the ground right away, instead stood there for a minute, almost enjoying herself for a change. She took a deep breath. The air had a fresh, crisp smell, and the moonlight seemed to cast an ethereal glow on the trees around her. And her stomach was pleasantly full. Logan really _could _cook. He and Max had spent a couple of hours preparing a wonderful meal. Well, okay – Logan spent a couple of hours preparing a wonderful meal. Max spent a couple of hours watching. Both seemed to be quite satisfied with that arrangement. And Buffy couldn't help but think that both seemed a little more comfortable with each other than "friends" usually were. She'd gotten the sense that dinner was a common occurrence between the two. The attitude they had towards each other was completely casual and genuine, and they had even seemed to understand what the other was talking about. Even though Buffy knew she'd missed the whole meaning….

The air seemed to still as Logan chose his words carefully. He might have waited to ask if he wasn't so damned curious. He kept chopping celery as he asked, "Four months, right?" 

Max must have understood what he was asking, because she replied, "Right." 

Logan looked at her. "So… what? About three… before it happened?" 

Max tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully from her seat on the counter. "No. One." 

"One? Really?" The hand with the knife paused as Logan contemplated… something. "So you've never…?" 

"Nope."

Buffy had no clue what either of them was talking about, but she could almost feel the phantom words flowing around her. 

"But alone… you must have, you know, " he made a motion of legs walking with his fingers and then went back to chopping, "a lot." 

"Yeah."

"Then…?"

"Have you been there lately?" Max gave him a wry smile. 

"Oh. Not much there." 

"Exactly." Her smile was different than any Buffy had seen. Sweet, almost charming. 

Logan chuckled and scraped the celery into the skillet with sizzling pieces of chicken. "Can you pass the ginger?" He reached up as the small jar came flying through the air. "Gee, thanks." 

Max grinned and swung her legs back and forth against the cabinets. "Anytime."…there was a feeling between the two that Buffy did understand. They cared about each other. And that transcended any label they could choose to put to whatever was between them.

Buffy also decided that Max had simply told her the truth earlier. Logan could do wonders with a chicken. He prepared orange cashew chicken with stir fried fresh vegetables. Although Dawn was a little disappointed that her mom took away the Chardonnay that Max had mistakenly poured for her, the rich dark chocolate mousse that Logan brought out for dessert seemed to make up for it. Joyce was delighted over the fare. And perhaps it was the familiarity of it that caused Max to finally relax around them all for five minutes and even carry on a conversation. Her slang was a little… colorful… at times, but it somehow managed to add a bit of character and depth to a woman who was still so much a stranger.

Buffy took another deep breath and slowly climbed down the tree that was near her window. She might have been able to leave the world to its own devices for one night, but wouldn't dare let it try to take care of itself two nights in a row. She dropped the last foot of the climb with a small jump and quickly walked off towards her nightly duty.

From the shadows of the roof, Max watched her go.

She'd promised Logan that she'd try to stay nearby for at least one night, and figured that the roof was close enough. It didn't have nearly the same feeling as the Space Needle, but at least it was something above ground level. A little height was all it took sometimes to get her thoughts back in order… so she'd sat and watched the shadows slowly change direction under the moon and stars. Max almost felt like she'd gotten her B's following her A's and preceding her C's, when one of the upstairs windows slowly slide open. Max slowly changed her position until the same shadows she'd been watching became her cover and she could observe unnoticed. 

As she watched the blonde woman take a deep breath of the night air and carefully climb down a tree, Max couldn't help but think that Logan was right. Seemed like a skeleton decided to leave its closet and go for a midnight stroll.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February 11, 2001

He wondered what she was thinking about. Logan watched her as she stared out the kitchen window, looking at something. The trees, the sunlight, something. Anything. At least today she was eating something that vaguely resembled breakfast. He recognized toast in the concoction she had whipped up for herself, at least. He wasn't quite sure what was on it, but it was definitely toast. Maybe.

Buffy walked into the kitchen, not at all surprised that Max and Logan were both awake and together. She didn't say anything right away, just watched these two visitors. Buffy couldn't even begin to imagine how they felt, stranded in a foreign place so unlike their own. An entirely different world, really, away from everyone they know. Yet here they were, continuing, moving, trying. Surviving. What strong stuff they must be made of, to be able to enter the unknown, make dinner, laugh, go to sleep, and wake to do it again? This morning's silence was such a reversal from last night's casual chatter between the two, but it wasn't strained. More… comfortable. Logan simply watched Max as she looked out the window. Max seemed content to be watching the world and eating… "What the hell are you eating?"

Max looked over her shoulder at Buffy and gave a quick grin. "Breakfast."

"Yeah, I got that but—" 

"Best you don't ask. That's why I don't let her cook," Logan told Buffy.

"Hey!" Max said indignantly. "There ain't no _let_ about it. Unless it's me _letting_ you cook for me. I tried to cook for you once, remember? Me face first in the mud? You with a wet floor?"

"I remember. I also remember you did a very good job boiling water."

"Oh, yeah. Once you _let_ me!" Max turned to face Logan full on. 

Buffy was surprised to see that, aside from the playful banter, Max's eyes seemed to flash with a spark of ire. "Um, I'm sensing a story that I'd really like to hear, but I'm not sure Mom wants blood in her kitchen." Logan smiled good-naturedly, but Max didn't react at all. Didn't move an eyelash. Buffy was silent for a second, and then continued. "Willow and Tara have a couple books I was going to go pick up. Was wondering if either of you want to walk over to UC Sunnydale with me. It's a bit of a hike, but..."

Max shrugged. "I'm game for a walk." She looked at Logan. "You coming?"

He shook his head. "No. I think I'm just going to head over to the Magic Box, start looking through some more books. Since it's Sunday, we won't have to worry about people."

"Suit yourself." Max loaded her dishes in the dishwasher. "Ready?"

Buffy nodded. "Let's go."

There was a long silence as the two women began their slow stroll to the UC Sunnydale campus. Buffy was feeling mildly uncomfortable with the quiet, but a glance at Max showed that it really didn't bother the other woman. 

Buffy sighed to herself. She couldn't help but keep running the "Slayer checklist" through her mind, trying to make some sense of Max. Dawn had mentioned that Max had gotten a little freaked when she tried to touch her neck. How did that fit in? Did it fit in?

Buffy shook her head. _Maybe I'm just seeing ghosts when it's the curtains blowing in the wind._ She smiled internally. _Or vampires where it's just dust._

She looked at Max again. Buffy couldn't help but try to put herself in Max's situation, and couldn't decide whether she'd be able to hold up like Max has seemed to, or whether she would go completely mad.

"You keep looking at me," Max said without looking at Buffy. "Why?"

Buffy tried to mask her shock. She hadn't realized she was being that obvious. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't realize you noticed."

"I notice. Why?" She repeated.

Buffy decided to go for a simple answer. "I'm trying to figure out if I could handle your situation if I were you."

Max gave a ghost of a smile and looked over at Buffy. "What makes you think I'm handling it?"

Buffy slowed her pace a little as she stared at Max. "Well, just the fact that if most people found out they'd gotten sent to the past, they'd be quivering piles of Jell-O. You're seeming pretty solid. Kinda makes me think you're handling it."

Max kicked at an invisible spot on the road. "You either handle it or you don't. I don't like that choice, so I handle it. It's usually more a matter of how well I handle things."

Buffy contemplated that for a few seconds and then tried another avenue of conversation, not completely unrelated. "It's got to be hard, being away from friends, family."

Max smiled a little broader this time. "My friends. I definitely know a few of them who would probably fall in your Jell-O category. Yeah, I miss them, but it's only been two days. I've gone longer without."

"And your family?"

Max stopped and looked down the road. Buffy watched as the dark-haired woman mentally debated that question and then closed off a part of herself that seemed to have been open before. "I don't have family like you do. Not really," she said sharply. She began walking again.

That startled Buffy. "No family? Isn't there anyone…?" Buffy tried to imagine what it would be like without her Mom and Dawn always there. It was unimaginable.

Max shook her head. "Not really," she repeated. "My friends are my only real family, in the sense that you mean. Original Cindy, Sketchy, Herbal Thought. Those are people I know would lay it all down for me."

Buffy almost laughed at the names, but held it back when she saw the seriousness in Max's face. "And Logan? Where does he fit?"

Max's pace slowed briefly, and then picked up. Her voice softened. "Logan is… a friend. No, I won't front on that. He's probably closer to family, in his own weird way. But definitely a good friend. Probably not anyone I'd rather get lost in time with."

"How'd you meet him?"

"My other job." Max cast Buffy a sly look.

Buffy understood what she meant, but wasn't sure of the polite way to say it. "You mean you… when… you're a…"

"Thief," Max supplied.

"Thief." Buffy wasn't sure she quite liked the taste of that word, especially when applied to someone she was talking with. "So you… Logan?"

"He had a statue I knew I could get a piece for. So I broke into his place, but I… broke a window on my way out. He looked for me so I could pay him back."

Buffy couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped. "You robbed his place and he wanted you to cover the window? Somehow that seems like Logan."

Max chuckled in agreement. "It does. And he didn't want me to cover the window. He just wanted to know who I was. And we've been friends, of a sort, ever since, I guess." Max looked at the buildings that were coming into view. "Where… well, _when_ we were, I think he had a hard time faulting me, really. Don't get me wrong, he did call me on it from time to time. But commerce is all it really is. And he's loaded. Could afford the loss. Hell, he had almost as much stuff in his place as you do."

Buffy caught the implication in Max's statement. "You think we're loaded? Rich? You'll have to tell my Mom that. She needs a good laugh." Buffy saw Max's look of confusion. "We're not rich, Max. We're average. Normal even." _Normal. Us. Yeah, if you can believe that._

"Oh." Max seemed mildly taken aback. "I just thought… never mind. Age difference."

Buffy walked to the door of a building and held it open for Max. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you think we've got a nice place."

"It's definitely all tricked out," Max said.

"All tricked out?" Buffy thought about that. "Yeah. You can say that. All tricked out." She stopped at one of the doors in the dorm and knocked.

Tara opened the door. "Buffy, Max. Good to see you. Um, c-come on in." She opened the door wider. Max and Buffy both walked in the room. Tara stared as Max didn't stop as most people normally would, but instead began to meander around the room and examine everything: the walls, the desks, the floors, Willow making the bed. 

Willow watched wide-eyed as Max walked by her. "Hi, Max."

"Hey," Max said distractedly as she caught sight of the rat in the cage in the corner.

Willow and Tara both turned slowly to look at Buffy, who only shrugged. She'd decided that this just had to be part of Max's personality, since it was almost an exact replay of when she'd first came to their house. "You have a couple books for me?" Tara went to the bookshelf in the room, trying not to eye Max too much for Slayer vibes.

Willow saw Max lean down to get a closer look in the cage. "That's Amy, our rat. I got her a couple years ago." She exchanged a look with Buffy, stopping herself from blurting out the explanation behind Amy. _Well, okay. I used to go to school with her, but adopted her right after she got stuck in rat form. At least that one wasn't _my_ fault, _Willow mentally amended.

"She's kinda cool," Max said, looking at Amy the Rat.

Amy Rat felt someone watching her and looked up from her examination of her wheel, expecting to see Willow or Tara. Instead she saw someone else. And what she felt from the woman… Amy gave a loud rat squeal and began running around her cage in a sheer panic, overturning over her food dish and knocking her bedding askew.

Max stood, startled at the reaction. She'd caught a rat or two in her time and had never seen any react like this one was. She looked over at Willow, Tara, and Buffy, who had identical expressions of perplexity on their faces. "Why's she doing that?" she asked.

Willow shook her head in confusion. "I don't know. I've never seen her do that before. You probably startled her or something."

Max eyed the cage warily as she slowly backed away. "You and me both, Amy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max was quite surprised when she observed Buffy crawling out her window a second night in a row. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why the young woman wouldn't just use the damn door rather than hugging a tree. Max had almost just watched her leave, when she got an idea. It occurred to her that it might be beneficial to see where this woman went night after night. Actually, she was just bored enough to find the idea of tracking someone an entertaining one.

Her night vision made the task of following Buffy quite simple, especially since after she'd gotten out of sight of the house, she didn't seem to care who was watching. Max stayed a block's distance away, keeping to the shadows. She was puzzled when Buffy entered a graveyard. Max stopped at the borders, not a little unnerved by the eerie silence of the spooky place. _What could she be doing in there? Visiting relatives? Witchcraft? Midnight nookie?_ Max shuddered at the odd mental image that combined all three. She decided that whatever the reason, she really didn't need to enter and watch. She hung back at the edge to wait for when Buffy came back.

Max had been waiting for a half an hour and was almost ready to just go back to the house when she heard a shrill scream. All her senses immediately went on hyper-alert. She quickly looked around at the surrounding area, seeing nothing, and heard another shout from inside the graveyard. She turned, saw that there was no gates or anything blocking entrance, and steeling herself with a quick breath, jogged inside. 

The tombstones rose around her from everywhere – tips of deadly icebergs, revealing only the barest hint of the massive danger underneath. Max shivered, not from cold but instead from some eerie sensation that seemed to crawl all over her skin. She tried her best to push the thought from her mind and to focus on the noises echoing through the cemetery. The sounds of a fight were quite familiar to Max. She focused her hearing for a second, trying to weed out the actual sounds from the others that seemed to reverberate in every direction. Her attention was drawn to a type of clearing, where crypts stood like small, decaying buildings.

Xander and Willow sprinted through the clearing as fast as they could, with Giles close on their heels. They'd stumbled onto a large pack of vampires meeting for a Bram Stoker Appreciation Convention, and, needless to say, found themselves slightly outnumbered. The three of them had managed to get rid of two of the thirteen vamps. But while Spike and Buffy were occupied with a few of the others, five vampires thought it would be a terrific idea to give chase. So they did what any brave fighter would. They ran.

Max watched, stunned. Who were these people? They certainly couldn't be the semi-normal if slightly odd people she had met at the Magic Box. No, these people were crazed maniacs being chased by demonic… things. She looked closer and saw their faces had large bumps above their yellow eyes, and sharp fangs protruded from their mouths. She couldn't move, could only stand slack-jawed as she watched Buffy leap into the fray from nowhere and jab a long lethal-looking wooden spike into several of their chests. The creatures vanished in a shower of dust.

Buffy sighed to herself as the last of the vampires disappeared. She resisted the urge to cough as she inhaled some of the grit in the air. She turned to her friends who were smiling between gasps. "We should have this gook analyzed sometime, Giles. I've swallowed enough of it tonight, I want to know if it's going to give me lung cancer." She turned to look for Giles' reaction, when she saw something standing past him about thirty feet or so. She peered in the darkness, trying to make out… "Max?" She then saw something else and her eyes widened in horror. "Spike! Stop!"

Spike never heard Buffy. Instead all his senses remain concentrated on the fight. He grabbed the creature he saw by the shoulder and spun it, swinging a fist. It was too late to pull his punch when he realized he recognized the creature.

Max's head snapped backwards with the force of the blow. One part of her chided herself for getting distracted by the antics of these Sunnydalians. The other part wanted blood. Her head snapped forward, but stopped when her minds eye overlapped this lumpy, fangy… whatever with the man who had been introduced to her two nights ago. He was staring at his fist in utter perplexity.

Buffy broke into a run.

"The chip," Spike mumbled. "My head. It doesn't hurt." He slowly looked up at Max and bared his fangs as he demanded, "What _are_ you?"

At the same time, Max hissed, "Nomalie!"

Buffy, for her part, could only be glad she didn't blink. She might have missed the whole thing. Spike leaned towards Max, as though he was going to charge, but ran into only air. Max leaped high and straight in the air, flipping herself completely over Spike's head. As she flipped, she somehow managed to turn herself completely around so she was facing his back, grabbing him, and throwing him face-first into the ground as she landed in a kneeling position over him. She grabbed his collar and yanked it down. "You've got to have… no barcode." She sat up in surprise.

Buffy called as she reached them, "Max! Don't kill him! He's not a totally bad vampire!"

Spike spit a small mouthful of dirt and glared at Buffy. "Am too," he grumbled. "Ow!" Max had shoved his face back in the ground. "Do you mind?!"

Max was now completely confused. She looked up and saw Buffy standing in front of her, looking down at her with a touch of wariness. She glanced around and saw that Giles, Willow, and Xander had also apparently seen her aerial acrobatics. _Caught_.

Buffy saw a shudder of alarm pass over Max's face. Buffy tried her best to put what she thought was a claming smile on her face. She said simply, "You're a Slayer, aren't you?"

Max bolted.

That time, Buffy did blink and missed the move. One second Max was there and the next… she had already reached the edge of the cemetery. "Where's she going?" Xander asked.

Buffy swallowed. "Home." She took off running after her, with the rest of the gang following. 

Yet again, Max found herself running for her life, running through the unknown to save herself. Her mind was racing in a million directions, none of them remotely rational. She only had one coherent thought among all of them: get Logan and get out. She hadn't turned up to full speed – to hopefully keep the neighbors in the dark – but figured she had managed to reach the Summers' residence about three minutes ahead of Buffy and her cronies. She flung open the door to the house, not caring that it bounced hard against the wall. "Logan!" she called. She ran into the living room where he was fast asleep on the couch. She skidded to a stop on her knees in front of him. "Logan!" she gave him a solid shake. She reached over and flipped on a light.

Logan thought he heard Max calling him and struggled towards consciousness. He tried to blink himself awake. "Max?" Without his glasses, he could just make out her expression: frantic with a hint of panic. He sat up quickly and reached for his glasses on the end table next to the couch. "What's wrong?"

She tried her best to focus, to work through the emotions ravaging her brain. "We've been played, that's what. We've got to go," she told him. "NOW."

He slowly pulled the seat of his wheel chair to bring it close enough to transfer to. "Why?" he asked. 

Max could not figure out why he wasn't moving or appearing to understand her order. She looked around and quickly grabbed his clothes off the floor, shoving them at him. "Because these so-called normal people apparently have a nighttime ritual of playing commando and hunting nomalies."

Logan shook his head. He couldn't remember a time when he'd seen Max in a state like this. "Nomalies? Max, you're not making any sense." He pulled the sweatshirt Max had shoved at him over his head, and figured that the sweatpants he had worn to bed would suffice for now. He transferred into the chair and snapped up the brakes, resting his hands on the wheels.

Joyce and Dawn had evidently heard Max's entrance, because they both stumbled down the stairs and into the living room, blinking their eyes at the change of light. "Max? What's wrong?" Joyce asked in concern, pulling the belt on her robe tight.

Max stared angrily at her. "You lied to us," she clipped out.

Logan was getting really worried now. Max had worked herself up into a complete frenzy. And he knew that had the possibility of becoming extremely dangerous if he couldn't get her to calm down. "Max. Could you compose yourself for just one minute. You're scaring Dawn." _And me_, he didn't add. Max glanced briefly at Dawn, seeing that the girl did look upset.

The sound of more footsteps thumped across the front porch as Buffy ran in through the still open door, closely followed by Xander, Willow, Giles, and Spike, the first three huffing and gasping for breath. Buffy saw Max standing in front of Logan, seemingly guarding him, and facing off against a confused Joyce and a distressed Dawn. Buffy could only assume the worst. "Back away from them. Now," she demanded.

Max turned sharply. Much to the shock of everyone in the room, Buffy and Max assumed fighting positions at the same time. Identical positions, right arms raised in front, left arms held tightly against their sides. When each saw what the other looked like, surprise flashed across their faces. Everyone else reacted by exploding with a cacophony of exclamations.

"Would you look at that?" 

"Holy heap of Chiclets. She was right!" 

"Two of them! Here! Now! As in… wait, that means there are three now?"

Giles and Logan both reacted at the noise by shouting, "Would everyone calm down for a second? Please!" It was their turn to give each other startled looks. Luckily, silence ensued.

Max began shifting her weight from foot to foot in almost a half hop. She could feel her blood racing through her system and every ounce of her genes burning for a fight. Logan turned to Max, since she was the only person there he knew, and therefore trusted to impart at least what she thought was accurate information. "Max could you please – _calmly_ – tell me what happened?"

She forced herself to turn to him, slightly, keeping the others in her peripheral vision. "I saw _her,_" she glanced pointedly at Buffy, "leave he house through the window, so I followed."

"You saw me leave?" Buffy asked.

"I was on the roof." She turned back to Logan. "And I followed her to a cemetery of all places and saw them wailing on these… beasts… when _he— _" She looked at Spike this time, and did a double take when she noticed that his face had returned to the way it had looked the first time she had seen him. She didn't break stride and continued, "He _hit_ me. So I took him down." Logan figured he could assume the takedown was of the genetically engineered soldier sort.

Buffy looked down at the floor, trying to compose herself. Something wasn't adding up correctly. So she decided to just lead with her instincts. "I've never seen anyone move like that. I haven't been able to help but notice you're different." She looked up and motioned to Spike. "That first night, you seemed to sense something wrong with Spike."

"Yeah. I sure managed to get that one right," Max said sarcastically.

"Well, he's a vampire. But, he doesn't hurt us. Well, much." Buffy crossed her arms in front of her chest. "So… are you a Slayer?"

Max stiffened even more than she had been already. "A _murderer_?!? That is _not_ who I am!" she ground out between clenched teeth.

Spike walked through the cluster of people in the doorway and dared to stand close to Max and look her dead in the eyes. "Well, you see, ducks, a while back the government got the brilliant idea of sticking this nifty little chip in my head to keep me from snacking on the likes of humans. Whenever I try, feels like my head is about to bloody well explode. But when I gave you that little love tap—" he raised his open hands "— no headache, no grabbing my head, no Big Ow. Which must make you… a demon."

Max stared at him, trying to process his words. "I'm not a demon," she finally managed to say.

He stepped slightly closer and ran his tongue along his fangs under his upper lip. "Well, you're not _human_, love."

Max felt like the walls were closing in on her. She couldn't move forward or backwards. Either way she felt she was in trouble. Either way, she lost. She turned to Logan, the dismay shimmering in the black pools of her eyes. "You told me I was safe here." Her voice gave a slight tremble that was only audible to someone who knew her well. Logan was the only person who heard it, and he felt his very soul react. "I'm not safe anywhere."

Joyce stepped forward. "Max, you are safe here. Nobody here will hurt you. It's okay to tell us what… _who_ you are."

"Max," Logan said softly. She closed her eyes and tried not to shiver. "Maybe it's time for you to take a chance. Trust someone."

Max sighed. Logan always seemed to be right about these things, somehow. She sat on the couch, deflated. She put her head in her hands as she could feel the energy drain out of her. 

Can't fight. Can't run.

"Every time I trust someone, or they trust me, they get hurt." She didn't dare look at Logan. Instead, she bolstered herself and looked Buffy straight in the eyes. "I'm a chimera," Max said stiffly, opting for the technical term to delay the inevitable.

Giles snorted. "I could hardly think so. You certainly don't look like lion, goat, or snake, and I haven't seen any fire breathing from you."

Max almost gave him a wry smile. Almost. "Yeah, well, I'm sure if someone had thought of it…"

Something in Willow's brain seemed to click at the words. She looked at Max, suddenly understanding what she meant. "No, Giles, she means… really. Wow. Max, you mean… really? Wow. She means… oh, cool." She tried not to cringe at the contorted look that Max gave her.

Xander cleared his throat. "Will, would you mind providing the translation for those of us who… have no idea what you're talking about?" 

Willow opened her mouth, but she was interrupted by Max.

"_Will_ means that someone in a secret government lab got it in their sick minds to see what happens when they mix human DNA with DNA from a few other things. In short, they made me." She took in their dazed expressions with a bitter laugh. She hated this. Hated the way everyone stared at her like she was something that just crawled out of a test tube, however appropriate it might be.

"Why?" Buffy asked.

"Because they decided they wanted a super soldier. They wanted a whole bunch. So me and my brothers and sisters were nothing _but_ soldiers every day of our lives until the day we blitzed. Funny thing is, they took exception to that and they've hunted us every day since then." Max clenched and unclenched her hands. She was starting to get a headache.

"How old were you when you left?" Dawn asked with wide eyes. The whole conversation seemed so surreal.

Max turned her head. She'd forgotten that the young girl had ended up as a witness to this whole mess. "Nine," she answered.

Joyce took a deep breath, steeling herself for a difficult question. "Are you dangerous?"

"Mom," Dawn exclaimed in protest.

Max never flinched as she looked at Joyce and answered as truthfully as she could, "Yes."

"Max," Logan said sharply, protesting her answer.

She whipped her head to look at him, "They trained me to kill, to be a killer." She looked back at Buffy. "So, yeah, I guess that does make me a slayer. But that's what I am, not who." She stood slowly on shaky legs. "And that's probably what makes me more dangerous than anything. We'll pack up and leave now. I won't bother… I'll leave."

Joyce shook her head. "Would you ever hurt us, Max? Willingly?" 

Max tried to search Joyce's face for any hint of fright or disgust. All she saw was the question. She said quietly, "I would never do anything to hurt you or your family."

Joyce nodded. "Then stay."

Max stopped breathing at her words. She couldn't believe it. She looked at each person's face and instead of looking at her like she was some kind of freak or monster, she saw something she never expected. Acceptance. Only Spike was still looking at her like she was a demon, but since she'd seen what he had looked like, well... it wasn't like his opinion really mattered. 

It seemed Logan had been right, of course. She had taken the chance. Trusted someone. And this is what it led to.

Dawn smiled. "Welcome to Sunnydale."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 6: Who We Are

A/N: I know I promised this a long time ago. Real life got in the way. But the more time I take, the more I write. So sit back, relax, and settle in for a long ride. Thanks to all who heckled the crap out of me these past few months (you know who you are). Thanks to Kyre and Alaidh for pointing out the lack of armrests on Logan's wheelchair (Chapter 5 has been fixed, btw). Special thanks to my beta, Tallera, who survived slogging through the mess this originally was.

Don't forget to review!

**Chapter Six – Who We Are**

_February 12, 2001_

Dawn's words hung cheerfully in the air.  Dawn could barely contain her excitement at how alike she and Max _really_ were – both were created, brought into being by powers beyond their comprehension and unleashed upon a world that was not yet prepared to accept them.  But the longer everyone stared at each other, the more the small thrill began to fade. 

There was a quick, nervous shift of movement as Max and Logan glanced at each other, almost daring each other to speak.  Dawn could feel the buoyancy of her welcome dissipating in the fog of unspoken thoughts that was settling back over the room.  Her face fell, and she thought over what she had said.  _'Welcome to Sunnydale.'  Three words.  What can be wrong with three words?_  She glanced at the faces around her, and noticed that the looks were quickly changing from acceptance to puzzlement and curiosity, with a touch of wariness…

_I think everyone needs to sit and talk this out.  Tell our side of the story.  Then maybe we all can move on… or get along… or something else happy and clichéd_, Dawn thought.  Deciding that that was a sound observation, she opened her mouth to share it.

"Dawn, why don't you go to bed," Buffy ordered, beating her sister to the punch, as she crossed her arms and regarded Max and Logan.

Dawn looked at her in shock.  "What do you mean 'go to bed?'  I don't want to go to bed!  I want to know what's going on," she protested.

Joyce looked at her youngest daughter, suddenly realizing the girl was still there.  "Because it's two in the morning and you have school.  You really should go get some sleep," she chided her youngest gently.

"But _Mom_…"

"Now."  Joyce raised her eyebrows, daring the girl to challenge her.

Dawn turned on one heel in a huff.  "It's not like I don't already know all this stuff," she muttered under her breath as she left the room.

Max took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she watched the young girl stomp out of the room.  _The only one of **them **I really wish would stay.  Well, and Joyce.  _But as she felt the adrenaline continue its mad race through her system, urging her to prepare for a fight that she knew wasn't going to happen, Max decided that it was probably for the best that Dawn left.  That way, an innocent wouldn't get hurt.  

Max shifted nervously, feeling like she was about crawl out of her skin.  Every single one of her senses was on heightened alert.  The colors seemed brighter, the air felt warmer, and the slightest sounds seemed to stand out.  Including the sound of Dawn halting her walk up the stairs… Max turned her head slightly towards the doorway, only to see Spike looking the same direction.  She saw him shrug slightly to himself, and as he turned back, he started at her gaze.  Max narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what he would do.  But to her surprise, he said nothing, only waited.  _The Super Hearing Freaks_, Max thought to herself.  _Good name for a rock band.  Bad for real life._

Dawn stopped short of the landing, beyond where the open banister ended and the wall began.  She sat quietly, pulling her legs up close, trying to make herself as small as possible, so she wouldn't be seen.  She peered through the bars at the light from the living room, unable to see much more than the front door.  _That means it'll be hard for them to see me, too.  And besides, I'm not bothering anybody up here.  What they don't know can't hurt them… can it?_ she thought to herself as she tried to control her racing heart.  She desperately wanted to hear what Buffy and the others were going to tell Max and Logan.  She wanted to know what Buffy would say about her being the Key. 

Willow and Xander moved into the room and each gingerly took a seat on the floor.  They looked back and forth expectantly from Buffy to Max, Giles to Logan, Joyce to each other and through the whole lopsided circle again.  With Dawn gone, the silence had crept quickly back into the room, where a big hairy uncomfortable _something _sat in the corner, waiting patiently for someone to mention it.

Max finally broke the hush with a forceful, "You kept calling me a slayer.  _Why_?"  The clear, commanding tone only furthered the image of her as a former soldier.

Buffy swallowed a little at the glare pointed at her and tried to smile.  "Uh, not slayer.  Slayer.  Capital S.  Usually preceded by The," she joked.

From her position, Dawn couldn't help but roll her eyes at her sister.  _Only time in her life Buffy's ever cared about grammar._

Joyce, too, rolled her eyes at her eldest.  "Buffy, don't be a pain."  She looked at Buffy pointedly, but fondly.

"Whatever.  The Slayer," Max repeated sarcastically, missing the mother-daughter byplay.

Dawn could imagine Buffy smiling now that the capitals were all correctly in place.  "Every generation has a Slayer, a Chosen One, who slays vampires and demons, and destroys other nifty assorted forces of evil.  And since this is a Hellmouth, well, let's just say the forces are here in… full force."

"So, you're all… Slayers?" Max asked.  Then she blinked in surprise as the room erupted in raucous laughter.

Giles tried to bring back some semblance of order.  "I'm sorry, Max, that's not precisely what she meant.  Buffy is The Slayer.  We merely… assist her."

 "Good thing, too," Spike added.  "Sunnydale would be in a much sorrier state if these three buffoons were in on the act."

Buffy just couldn't let the topic go without one more word on the subject.  "I'm pretty much it for this generation.  With the exception of a minor cosmic flub that brought another—" 

Max held up a slim arm and waved off the response.  "Whatever."  She turned towards the redhead.  "Willow.  A witch, right?"  

"Yeah, I'm a witch.  Like I said.  And Tara, too," Willow said cheerfully.

"Right.  Okay, that's three.  Giles?"

"I'm what is called a Watcher," Giles said with a trace of pride.  "I was appointed by a council of Watchers to keep an eye on Buffy, to assist her in her training, research, equ—"

"Don't care," Max interrupted.  

Giles blinked in surprise at Max's audacity.  How dare she interrupt him, when he was only trying to—

"They called you a vampire," Max stated, now turning to Spike.

Dawn blinked at the change and drew her knees closer to her body.  _Careful!  Harriet the Spy wouldn't be caught daydreaming.  Or… not caught.  Objective here is not caught, Dawn._  She could hear the thick creak of Spike's leather duster as she waited for Spike's reaction.

 "I am," Spike agreed, crossing his arms and eyeing Max warily.

Max stared at him blankly for a moment before asking "Meaning?"

Almost everyone's jaw dropped.  "You don't know what a _vampire_ is?" Willow exclaimed.

"Dracula?"

Dawn shook her head.  She'd obviously have to fill Max in on the situation later.  She could feel a sense of pride at the thought of knowing something that someone else didn't already, for a change.  

Spike, for his part, seemed pained.  "Obviously our PR demon isn't doing such a good job after all.  I think we need to eat a new one."  At Max's narrowed look, he threw his hands up in exasperation.  "Creatures of the night?  Blood suckers?  Big evil?"  Spike shook his head in disgust at Max's continued blank expression.  "'Take Back the Night' is going to have an entirely new meaning from now on."

Max paused before she slowly said, "Okay.  But she said she kills vampires, yet you—"

Xander snickered loudly.. "He's a neutered vamp.  He's all bark now."

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but Max blocked him by with a momentary look of pity.  "Oh.  Sorry."  She then turned to Xander, not even daring to ask.

"Drywaller," Xander replied without prompting.  

Spike took his turn to snicker.  Max, for her part, just nodded sagely.  "I completely understand why one of those would be needed to fight the forces of darkness."

Xander continued helpfully, "Anya's an ex-demon, though."

Logan's shoulders twitched in restrained laughter as Max smiled broadly.  "And now you've made complete sense for the first time tonight," she said.

Dawn heard another long silence.  She was ticking off on her fingers who Max had heard about: Buffy, Giles, Spike, Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya.  All that was left was—

"So you were made by a secret government organization?" Xander asked.

Dawn was confused.  _Since when is it our turn to ask again?  She didn't ask about me.  Or Mom…  But me, too!_

Max happened to be thinking along the same lines as Dawn, except that she didn't seem to appreciate the change in questioning.  She stood and turned her back on the room, looking out the window.  "Yeah, I was.  Ask me something new."

"Must be something like the Initiative," Willow guessed.

Max turned and laughed.  The sound was hard, cynical, and devoid of humor.  "Those children and their chemistry sets?  Please.  If you're going to compare Manticore to something, at least compare it with something worth its name."

Spike's eyes widened at Max's words.  "Children?  Those brats shoved a bloody Tinker Toy up my brain!  I think they were a bit more advanced than all that."

The room ignored him.  "What's the Initiative?" Logan asked Max, rolling forward slightly.

"A bunch of soldiers who got it in their heads that they could pull a Manticore and create a super soldier.  Only thing is that they were looking to do it with parts of dead soldiers.  Disbanded when all of it was revealed to be a crock."

Buffy raised one hand to draw Max's attention.  "Uh… 'scuse me.  Not dead soldiers.  Dead _demons_.  And not a crock.  It kinda worked.  For a while, at least."  

"Pretty sad when you have to keep the operations of a secret governmental operation secret from another secret governmental operation," Xander pointed out.

"They did a pretty good job with you, didn't they?"  Willow said.  "Except they must've forgotten to program you with some of the laws of physics."

Max's face darkened.   "Someone probably just misplaced the memo," she said tensely.

Dawn swallowed, not liking the tone of her friend's voice.  _Why can't they tell she's getting angry?  _

"Yeah, but the way you flipped!" Buffy exclaimed.  "It was like you were… I don't know, suspended or something.  You were up, then sideways, then half turned inside out."

"And you run pretty fast, too," Xander added.

Max tilted her chin up, almost scornfully it seemed.  "You haven't even seen me run."  

Dawn blinked.  Max hadn't said the words like she was bragging.  Just… matter of fact.

Giles quietly said, "We have a training room at the Magic Box.  You are welcome to use it if you wish."

Max's eyes closed for a second.  When they opened again, they were blank, unfeeling.  "No _thanks_," she clipped.  "I don't train."

Buffy couldn't help the small flare of jealousy that burned brightly in her mind before she squashed it.  It always seemed like Giles was dragging her away to train for a fight against something.  "You don't?  Why not?"

"I just don't, okay?"  Max quickly rubbed at one temple.  She was getting a headache from the whole mess.  "Don't need to," Max added.  She turned to Logan with a sarcastic sigh.  "I'm going out.  Is that okay?"

_Oh, geez.  I think she's ticked now, _Dawn thought to herself, leaning more towards the railing to adjust her view.

__Max waited for Logan to give her a nod, and then she brusquely pushed past Spike and left the room.

Dawn didn't realize Max would move so fast.  There was no time to hide as she walked through the hall… and glanced directly at the girl on the stairs.  Max didn't even break stride as she opened the door, walked outside, and shut it loudly.  

Dawn barely had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief when she noticed that Spike, who had been brushed half out of the doorway by Max's mad rush, was now looking at her as well.  She could feel her breath catch as they stared at each other.  Then he gave her a one shouldered shrug, camouflaged to look like he was stretching the arm Max just rammed into, and moved so that he blocked most of the view, making sure that no one else would be able to see her.

Dawn closed her eyes in gratitude.  She opened them as she heard… nothing.  Again.  Apparently, no one was quite sure what to say.

Except for Willow, who asked curiously, "How did they make Max?  I mean, the level of technology that had to go into her production…"

Dawn sighed and shook her head.  _As much as she's changed from when I first met her, she's still a science geek at heart, isn't she._

Logan turned slightly, and Dawn could see a stony look on his face.  A bit cold, but mostly just… secretive.  "I think Max had the right idea.  I think this conversation is done for the night.  Personally, I wouldn't mind getting a little sleep."  

Dawn couldn't help but sigh again.  This time as romantic thoughts of a man defending his lady flitted through her mind.  As she heard everyone agree with Logan, and begin to move, she quickly – and as quietly as possible – scampered up the rest of the stairs and leaped into bed.  She breathed quick prayer that no one else knew that she was listening to a conversation she probably shouldn't have.  She lay still for a few minutes, settling from the "adventure."  But as she was finally beginning to drift off to sleep, her eyes sprang open as she realized that Buffy hadn't mentioned her once.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Sleep came eventually, because Dawn woke to the sound of the shower running.  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, and blinked to rub some of the sleep away.  4:22 a.m. She watched it for nearly 45 minutes before the water shut off.  She laid as still as possible as Max walked into the dark bedroom, already dressed, and combing out her hair.

"You heard everything," Max said, not looking at Dawn directly, but instead in the mirror over the dresser.

Dawn sat up quickly in bed.  "How did you know I was awake?" she whispered.  "I didn't think you could tell."

Max walked over and sat on the corner of the bed.  "I can see in the dark, so it's easy to tell when someone's eyes are open," she informed the girl.  "You heard everything, didn't you?" she repeated.

Dawn was fairly certain she knew what Max was referring to… and it wasn't just the words spoken aloud earlier that night.  "I… I think so," Dawn said hesitantly.

Max nodded and rose, moving over to the window.  Slowly opening it, she said, "_You _can ask any questions you want.  I won't always answer, but feel free to ask."  Max swiftly stepped onto the roof and closed the window, leaving Dawn alone in the dark.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


There was an odd dance going on between Those Who Had Been and Those Who Will Be, and neither group was fond of it.  The beat of the music was off, the proper attire was questionable, and no one had a clue what the steps were.  

Everyone thought that once the cards were all laid out on the table, things would be alright.  No more guessing who was whom and what was when.  But in the back of all of their minds, they couldn't help but wonder who might have extra cards up her sleeve.  

Max and Logan, being truly out of their element, felt this stress more than anyone.  They sat at the Magic Box that entire day, quietly looking through books, talking, trying to learn what was, to them, a foreign language.  Sometimes literally.  

Everyone else tried to go on with their lives as though nothing had changed.  Dawn went to school, Joyce headed to work, and Buffy actually went to a few of her classes.  She told everyone it was because she had several quizzes… and if she had other reasons, she kept them to herself.

When they all returned back to the Summers' house that evening, the atmosphere was strained and overly polite.  The houseguests had become… houseguests. Max and Logan kept to themselves, often punctuating their quiet conversation with secretive looks. 

Max left the house late that night, to explore whatever opportunities Sunnydale could offer to a creature who didn't sleep.  Nobody asked where she was going, and she didn't volunteer.  Buffy never saw her while out slaying, and by the time she got home Max still hadn't returned.  When Buffy checked in on her sleeping sister, she saw that the blankets on the floor were neatly folded and set in a corner.  Proof of the "Max doesn't sleep" theory.  As if any more proof of anything were needed anymore.  

Satisfied that her sister was safe and sound, Buffy went to bed.

And dreamed of snow.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_February 13, 2001_

Joyce refolded the newspaper and took a long sip of her coffee.  With everyone out of the house, she was enjoying the quiet of the morning.  Although she had the day off, she was debating going in to the Gallery for a while.  She had scaled her hours back considerably since having her surgery, but still tried to work as often as possible.  The truth was that she missed the work, and the people there.  She mulled over the idea for another moment before deciding against it.  _I'm scheduled for a half-day tomorrow anyway_, she thought as she picked up her dishes and took them to the sink. 

As she turned on the water and added a little soap, she thought of her houseguests.  She figured they were probably getting bored and frustrated with their search.  As far as she knew, they had found nothing that would help them get back to their time.  It occurred to her that it might be a nice gesture if she invited Max and Logan to go to the Gallery with her.  For a chance to get away from the Magic Box for a while, Logan would probably jump at the opportunity.  Max, on the other hand…

Joyce chuckled to herself.  Max didn't seem the type to enjoy sitting around staring at art for hours on end.  Joyce rinsed the dishes, set them on the counter… then stopped, feeling someone watching her.  She turned slowly.

She was alone.

She slowly walked to the dining room doorway, a perplexed frown growing on her face. Not seeing anyone, she moved to the living room doorway.  Still nothing.  _Must be my imagination_, she thought.

As she began vacuuming, Joyce's thoughts drifted back to their earlier topic: Max.  She had been so quiet and secretive since coming to stay with them.  Learning about Max's big "secret" was negligible.  Joyce felt that she almost knew even less about her than when she had first arrived.  She couldn't help but wonder about what Max's life was like, what she liked to do, where she liked to go.  It really was quite difficult to place any one "normal" activity to the girl.

Joyce's mind wandered back to when Max revealed who she was.  Joyce had sat silent most of the time, taking in the information and mulling it through in her head.  Somehow, she had begun to realize that the others present had completely missed what Max wasn't saying about her experiences, which was the reason they had no difficulties prodding Max for more.   What Max didn't say came through the loudest for Joyce, and it made her heart ache to think—

Joyce spun quickly as the feeling ran up her spine again.  She narrowed her eyes, looking for someone who wasn't there.  

"Hello?"

No response.  She might have called herself paranoid, but she was starting to believe that there was more to this feeling than she had first thought.

As she put the vacuum away, an idea began to form in her mind.  After all, there was one person staying in the house who was probably skilled at watching without being seen…

Joyce went upstairs to see if Buffy or Dawn had left any laundry in their rooms.  _They always have the best intention of helping_, Joyce thought as she pulled out a blood-stained sweatshirt out from under Buffy's bed, _but somehow intention never quite makes it to completion._  She made her way back down the hall to Dawn's room… and stopped in the doorway.  

_Her bed is made_, Joyce thought in confusion.  It wasn't that Dawn never made her bed – quite the contrary, actually.  But it was usually was made after school after a lot of pleading, cajoling, bribery and a few good old fashioned threats.  _Maybe she's trying to be "good" for Max_.  The early signs of hero worship were all too apparent in her youngest daughter.  At that thought, Joyce eyed the bed suspiciously, and reached out to turn up an edge of the comforter.  Then she couldn't help but laugh out loud.  

Dawn certainly didn't know how to make a bed with military corners.  As she chuckled to herself, she realized that her strange feeling of being watched had disappeared.  

If Max had been there, she was gone now.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Giles was going over some of the recent sales figures.  He couldn't for the life of him figure out why there was an increase in demand for ground otter's tooth, but whatever the reason, he was grateful for it.  The stuff came with a significant profit margin.

"Giles!  We're getting low on mallow root!  Order some more!"  Anya bellowed from the stock room.

"Yes, thank you, Anya," he called back to her with exaggerated patience.  "No need to shout; I have a perfectly good set of ears… for the moment, anyway," he muttered, rubbing his temple.  His nose twitched as it detected a new odor in the shop… mozzarella… with perhaps a hint of…pepperoni?  

He looked up and saw Max standing in front of him, holding several boxes of pizza.  He stood straight as she tilted her head slightly to one side.  "Max!" he exclaimed.  "I'm sorry, I didn't notice the bell as you came in."  Then he blinked, frowning.  Perhaps they weren't as good as he thought.  _I really must remember to get those looked at…_

Her eyelashes fluttered in an indescribable look before she said, "No big dealio."  She held out the boxes.  "I brought pizza," she said warily.

_She still seems slightly uncomfortable around me_, he thought.  Max was uncomfortable around most of the Sunnydale natives, but she seemed to hold him at arms length more so than any of the others.  He tried to put on a soothing smile.  "That's quite kind of you, Max.  Thank you."

She nodded sharply and turned to the rest of the shop.  "Chow time!" she called loudly.

Giles rubbed his temple again.

Xander appeared almost instantaneously from the training room.  "Does my nose detect the aroma of small circular pieces of meat?"

Anya sauntered out from the back of the shop.  "Oh, thank you, Max.  That is so very generous of you to give all your money to a store that sells silly round bread with toppings, when you could have spent it _here_, where you can acquire many useful things, like ground monkey toes and pickled dagoth root.....and otter's teeth! Yes, I hear those otter's teeth are very popular nowadays....."

"Anya!"  Buffy exclaimed.  "Be nice. After all, it's our fault she's –  they're – here."

"Technically, it's Willow's fault."

Willow's brows rose.  "Well, not on purpose… I mean… come on, people, it's not like I'm _evil_ or anything."

"Right, sweetie.  Not on purpose," Tara put in, trying to appease the blonde woman.

"Still, would it kill her to buy a measly box of tea lights? Or a mummified toad, even?" Anya pouted.

Logan looked at Max and raised an eyebrow as the friendly bickering increased in volume.  She shrugged and set the boxes on the table.  "Not my fault.  I just brought pizza."  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
It didn't take long for them to demolish the pizzas, then return to their previous activities.  Seeing that Logan was occupied with a book in a back corner and Max had pulled her usual disappearing act, Buffy approached Giles with her newest brain-teaser.  Or, at least, her most recently recurring one.

"I don't know, Giles.  Each time it's a little different, but almost the same.  Snow.  There's always snow.  That much is constant.  I kind of feel like I'm watching cable.  Except we don't have cable.  So I'm squinting at the screen and at first, all I think I can see is—"

"Snow," Giles cut in.

"Yeah.  Snow.  But if I watch the same show a bunch of times, my brain starts making out the pictures.  And then I start to get an idea of what the show really is."  Buffy paused, thinking for a moment.  "Do you get what I'm saying?  I mean, I guess it _could_ be a bit outside your frame of reference…"

Giles rolled his eyes at her.  "I _do_ have a television, Buffy."  _Although, I think it gets more use as a magazine rack…_  "You mentioned seeing more of the pictures, getting an idea of the program.  Does that mean you're now seeing more than the snow portion of these dreams?"

Buffy hesitated before responding.  "Max and Logan's first night here, I had another one, just before I woke up in the morning."

Giles sighed as he asked, "And you neglected to tell me about this dream for what reason?"

 "Giles, I…"  There was no good response to that question.  "I'm telling you now."  She waited, but Giles said nothing.  "I was barefoot in the snow.  I could hear some sounds – dogs, water, someone running.  And you were there," she admitted finally.

Giles blinked in surprise.  "I was?  What did I do?"

"You didn't really _do_ anything.  You told me to watch.  That it was my turn to be the watcher."

"Sound advice at times," Giles said.

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Well, duh.  I get that.  What I don't get is what I'm supposed to be watching.  You didn't tell me anything more during the last dream I had—"

"Last dream," Giles interrupted.

"Last night.  Giles, please don't get your knickers in a twist over this.  It was last night and I'm telling you today, okay?"

Giles raised his hands in acquiescence.  "Rest assured my knickers aren't twisted.  I'm just concerned.  But, please.  Do continue."

"Anyway, last night, you said the same thing.  One word this time.  Watch.  And you turned to someone else and said something, but I couldn't see who it was or hear what you said.  And there was this giant fence that I started to climb.  And trees.  I was running through trees.  I woke up when I thought I heard glass shattering."  Buffy crossed her arms and leaned on the counter, closing herself off a bit as she bent towards him.    "So… any clue?"

Giles glanced over Buffy's shoulder at Logan, and looked back at Buffy.  He crouched down in almost a mirror of her posture, lowering his voice.  "Have you thought that it may have something to do with your houseguests?"

Buffy shook her head.  "I wondered… but I don't know.  I mean, I started dreaming about snow, just snow, before they came here.  Although the dreams did start to get more wonky after they showed up."

"I wouldn't put too much into when the dreams started, Buffy.  After all, we are dealing with time travel here.  That type of transfer, and the magiks involved, is bound to leave many ripples surrounding it, with repercussions lasting far beyond the instant of the transfer itself.  Not only in real time, but the past, future, non-linear time…No matter what the movies say, it's not as easy as sending a whale through a slingshot.  Just think, the temporal folds alone…"  He trailed off, running the list of potentials through his mind.  He shook his head to clear it, and looked back at Buffy, noticing that her eyes were beginning to glaze.  "Aside from that, it could very well be just a dream.  The only way you can find out…" he trailed off, giving her an expectant look.

"I guess I could ask them," Buffy said.

"You could."

"In a roundabout way, of course."

"Of course."

"Without revealing too much, in case it's something else entirely."

"Buffy..."

"What?  I'm still not sure I can trust them, Giles.  Come on, look what they were hiding from us," Buffy said.

Giles sighed.  "We can't exactly claim innocence in this situation – they weren't the only ones hiding things.  It's no wonder Max slinks around looking as though we're all plotting something evil.  I'm not sure we've given her any reason to trust us, either."

Buffy feigned a hurt expression.  "We told her about us, didn't we?  …Okay, so it was after she told us about her first… but still!  Wasn't it you who tried to pulverize the whole 'Slayer works in secret' idea into my poor, helpless brain in the way-back-whens?"

Giles gave her a pensively bemused look.  "Since when did anything I try to 'pulverize' into your brain not scramble its way back out at the first opportunity?"

Buffy responded with a  laugh.  "Hey!  I remember what you say… sometimes… for a while."  Then she sighed and all the laughter seemed to drain from her face.  "Look at what she is, Giles.  She's told us herself she's dangerous.  How can I trust that?"

He eyeing at her speculatively, and ventured, "Are you not trusting her because of who she is… or what she is?  Or perhaps is it because of what you are… or are not?"

Her hands started tracing patterns on the surface of the counter.  One B, followed by a U, a pair of Fs, and a Y that slowly devolved into a series of swirls and unfinished spirals.  "All you have to do is look at her, Giles," Buffy said wistfully.  "Perfection.  That's what whoever built her had in mind.  She called herself a super soldier.  She's the _perfect_ soldier."  

Buffy leaned down on the counter, resting her chin forlornly on her crossed arms.  "You saw her.  She took down Spike like a linebacker would take down a Math professor.  She runs amazingly fast, doesn't sleep, moves like Jackie Chan in zero-g, and who knows what else!  Why couldn't someone like her have gotten all Chosen for the sacred duty thing?  She was _made_ to do this kind of thing.  She could have been doing all the demon slaying, I could have gone on being little ol' me, and life would have been just fine."

Giles could understand her point, but that didn't make the reality of reality any different.  "Perhaps… but you are you, and Max is… well, Max.  Both of you were destined to be who you _are_."

"So the girl gets to be a soldier and the soldier gets to be a girl?  Hate to sound petty, Giles, but that sucks."

Giles moved around the counter until he was standing next to her.  "Sometimes it does."

Buffy sighed, but remained silent.  The two stood there until Xander came out of the back room with one arm draped around a grinning Anya.

"Well, hate to say goodbye," Xander called out to the shop, "but Anya and I are going to go home and celebrate 'Between Construction Projects Week' with a nice dinner."

"And sex," Anya added.  "Don't forget sex."

"Yes, and I'm sure no one else can forget, either," Xander replied, giving her shoulder a squeeze and smiling.

"Desperately trying to," Buffy chirped plaintively.

Logan chuckled.

At the sound, Anya's head whipped around.  She looked at Logan, and then quickly turned her head to look around the shop.  "Where's Max?" she demanded.

Willow and Tara glanced up from their huddle in the corner.  "Anya, it is okay if you let her out of your sight for a couple of nanoseconds.  Whole microseconds even.  You know, I bet she could go an entire millisecond without getting the hairy eyeball from you," Willow said.

"No, she can't!  It's not okay.  She could have her greedy genetically engineered paws swiping half our inventory as we speak!" Anya exclaimed.  Her right eye began to twitch spastically.

Logan sighed and moved away from the book he was reading.  "I can vouch for Max, Anya."

"Then where is she?  What's she doing?  Answer me _that_, Mr. I'll-Vouch-For-Her-Person-Guy!"

Logan looked up, glancing towards the upper level of the shop.  All of the other pairs of eyes in the shop followed his gaze.

"Holy freakin' bunny pellets!" Anya cried.  "Get down from there!"

Max was lying on the railing bordering the upper level of the shop.  In most cases, that wouldn't be a very impressive feat.  Except this railing was a black metal pipe only about two inches across.  The crowd below could do nothing but gape as Max nonchalantly turned another page of the book she was reading.  "Why?" she asked in a bored tone.

Anya's eyes bulged.  "Because!  If you fall and break your neck, do you have _any _idea what that is going to do to our insurance premiums?!"

Max slowly turned her head to look down at the blonde woman, shrugged, and managed to roll smoothly over onto her stomach.

Anyone who saw Anya's face in that moment would have had _no_ problem believing that she'd slaughtered half the population of Europe back in ye olde demon days.  "Hello?  Are you hearing impaired?"  Anya's voice rose to piercingly inhuman decibels.

No one noticed Giles wince and momentarily rub his temple.

Buffy looked over at the ex-demon (or supposedly ex), and decided that she should probably step in before blood was spilled.  "Anya—" she began.

Max beat her to the punch.  "I heard you fine."  She bent one leg lazily at the knee, waving a foot in midair.  "I'm just ignoring you."

Anya realized that her current strategy wasn't getting her anywhere, so she changed tactics to continue the assault from another angle: logic.  "What happens when you lose your balance?"

Max glanced at Anya in annoyance, and then a wicked gleam appeared in her eye.

"Max…" Logan warned, a little too late.

Max gingerly set the book slightly ahead of her on the rail.  All it took was a smooth push up and a slight shift of weight for her to end up in a handstand, her toes pointed directly at the ceiling. She held the position pristinely, not moving a muscle.

"Oh… wow!" Willow murmured.  "Look at that!"

Max turned her head to look down at them and grinned, noting that none of the men really needed Willow's direction.  Max used her hands to "walk" back and forth a bit, never once wavering in her posture, finally doing a walkover and ending up in a standing position.  In quick succession, she did several back flips – two handed, one handed, no handed – each shifting her shirt a bit to reveal the flat stomach underneath.

"Giles!  Make her stop!" Anya said shrilly, turning to look at her boss.  When she saw his slack jawed unresponsiveness, she slapped him on the arm.  "_GI-les_!"

He nodded his head fractionally, continuing to gape along with Logan and Xander, absentmindedly muttering, "Yeah… just…  a moment."

Anya glared and stuttered, first at him, then at the other two men,.  "But… wa… but… she's… glarg!"  She finally gave up and glared at Max, who apparently was getting bored with her play.

Max finished up a couple more slow acrobatic moves, and resumed her handstand.  She reversed her earlier moves, lowing herself into a push-up, laying back down on her stomach, and picking up her book.

Buffy sighed to herself.  "Like I said.  Perfect," she muttered softly.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_  
February 14, 2002_

As Joyce suspected, Max turned down the offer of a visit to the Gallery, while Logan accepted enthusiastically.  Max was somewhat vague in saying what she was going to be doing for the day.  She mumbled something about doing more research at the Magic Box, or possibly checking out the town, and made a hasty escape.

"She's somewhat of an art connoisseur in her own right, but her venue of choice isn't exactly an open gallery," Logan explained on the drive to the Gallery.

"More like a closed gallery?" Joyce asked archly.

He shrugged.  "Closed gallery, locked houses, whatever."  Logan straightened a little at the impression of Max he realized he was giving.  "She's not just a thief, you know.  She does a lot of good work."

Joyce shook her head.  "Logan… I can tell.  I've been sorting through some of the conversations that have taken place before we found out who Max is.  It's been interesting to know that she never really kept lied about anything, did she?  Just was… selective."

Logan grinned as they pulled to a stop in front of a typical, tidy Sunnydale shop.  "Selective.  That's a good word for it."

The Gallery was actually bigger than it looked from the outside.  The collection combined the best of local artists and with some who were more renowned.  The display cases were crowded with an eclectic mish-mash of paintings, sculptures, sketches, jewelry, and other art objects.  

Logan felt right at home.

Joyce introduced him around to the other employees, and then the two gravitated back towards Joyce's desk, where she apparently worked mostly with sculptures and historical artifacts from around the world.  Logan recognized several of the pieces, and couldn't help but be awed, knowing that in his time two of those works had been sold on the black market and subsequently disappeared, and the other had been destroyed.  He looked at Joyce and sighed, wondering if he told her about them, if perhaps the fate of a few precious artifacts could be changed.  _But then again, maybe it'd be best if I just left well enough alone,_ he thought to himself.

Logan soon found himself working on a computer database, cataloguing some of the same pieces, and a few new ones that were coming in.  He couldn't help but chuckle, since all it took was a few paintings and a computer to make him feel vaguely normal again, for the first time in days.  He hit a few buttons to produce a printout of the Ivory Coast ship carvings he had just catalogued.  He moved to the printer, and sighed when he realized it was inconveniently out of reach.  He looked over his shoulder and, seeing that Joyce was nearby, called, "Joyce?  Would you mind, uh… getting this printout for me?"

Joyce flushed somewhat as she removed the pages from the print tray and handed them to him.  "Oh, sorry about that.  I didn't think—"

"Not a problem," Logan interrupted.  "Not your fault."  He smiled in an attempt to distract Joyce away from her embarrassment.  "Too bad that when I lost my legs, I didn't get an extra pair of arms."

She cocked her head in curiosity.  "Do you mind if I ask how—"

"Bullet.  Completely severed my spinal cord," he informed her, trying to be as blasé about the painful subject as possible. 

Joyce nodded slowly, absorbing that information.  "I don't see you as a gun carrier.  I could see Max, but not you."

Logan laughed loudly at the sheer absurdity of that statement.  "Yes, I carry.  Carried.  I still have to sometimes.  Things can get dangerous in my line of work."

"Freelance journalist, exposing corruption?"

"I can be selective, too," Logan responded, raising an eyebrow.  Then he sobered slightly.  "Please don't bring up the subject of guns in front of Max.  They make her… skittish."

"Really?  But she's a soldier—"

"She's not," Logan said firmly.  "She's a person."

"I realize that," Joyce said, softly, nonplussed by his vehement reaction.  "Soldiers are people, too."

He closed his eyes briefly, remembering too many close encounters.  "Not in our world.  Different times breed different people."  He turned back to the computer, and slowly typed in a few words.

Joyce remained quiet for a few seconds, unsure how to respond to that without butting into things that were most likely none of her business.  "Logan, about Max…"  

He turned back towards her with an expression that invited her to continue.  

"Yesterday, I was doing some work around the house.  I could swear I was being watched, but every time I turned, no one was there.  Do you think…?"

Logan stared at her in amazement.  "You can feel that?" he asked.

"Feel… what?"

Logan shrugged.  "Max," he said simply.  "For starters, if you were being watched, there's no doubt that it was her.  She watches you when she's out in the open, too.  I'm just… surprised that you knew."  He smiled.  "I swear sometimes she's got chameleon DNA in her somewhere.  You can be looking directly at her and not see her."  

He paused, his expression becoming more thoughtful.  "I think you… fascinate her.  She's never known a mother.  I know one woman in her building has a small child, but I'm fairly certain none of her adult friends have any contact with their families.  So I think she's just trying to figure you out."

"What should I do about it?" asked Joyce.

"Whatever you want," Logan replied.  "Ignore her, ask her about it.  If you really want my advice, you'll call her on it."

Joyce looked at him and narrowed her eyes slightly, not quite understanding.

"Start talking to her when you can't see her, but you know she's there.  At best, you'll let her know that _you_ know and she may talk to you.  At worst, it was all your imagination and you'll be talking to an empty room."

Joyce laughed and looked down at the papers she was holding without really seeing them.  A thousand questions crossed her mind.  "So… did she know you before… this… happened?" Joyce asked, indicating Logan's wheelchair.

"Not really," Logan answered her.  "We met a couple times before it happened, but I didn't really see her again until a few months later."  He smiled ruefully.  "We didn't exactly… hit it off well."

"Oh."  Joyce paused.  "Tell me about her."

Logan blinked.  "About Max?"

Joyce rolled her eyes.  "Yes, about Max."

Logan hesitated.  "It's really not my place.  I mean she–"

"Logan," Joyce interrupted.  "Tell me about _Max_."

Logan was silent for a long moment.  He turned to the computer screen and stared at the glow as he tried to figure out where to begin.  "Max is… she's…" he stopped.  "Max is a miracle."

"A miracle?"

"Where she came from… what they did to her… what they made her do…" Logan stopped as he noticed he wasn't explaining himself very well.  "There've been studies done on children who've spent their formative years in orphanages.  In many cases, the behaviors that these children develop in order to survive become so ingrained that they aren't able to function in the real world.  These behaviors are also extremely difficult to 'unlearn,' if not impossible.  Max, for example, has obscenely perfect posture.  Even when you think she's relaxed, or slouching, she's not.  Oftentimes, it's just that her shoulders that are bent – her spine couldn't get any straighter if she had a steel rod in it."  He stopped, thinking of all of the little things about Max that came from a different time and place.  

Joyce's brow furrowed.  "What would be the purpose of that?"

Logan shrugged.  "Who knows?  But aside from all that… she was born a soldier.  She was bred to fight and kill.  The outside world was nothing but an unknown to them."

"Them?"

"Her, and the others like her.  Somehow, they managed to figure out that what they were being taught wasn't right, that the unknown was better than the known.  They escaped, and she's survived.  I don't know how sometimes, since she slipped out of the cracks of one system, and fell through the cracks of another, right before the world turned upside down.  But she's always landed on her feet."  Logan chuckled.  "Her morals and ethics may be questionable at times, but… sometimes I think she's more human than the rest of us could ever hope to be."  

He paused.  "She's never told me much about what happened to her in that place, but all you have to do is look at her eyes.  You may see a child in one moment, a soldier in the next.  In the end, her eyes are older than any young woman's ever should be."  He paused again, and then whispered, "She's a miracle."

Joyce smiled after Logan turned back to the computer.  _Just good friends_, she thought wryly.  _I think his definition of friends is a little different than most_.

"Joyce," Logan said, raising his head.

"Yes?"  She pushed down her smile.

He glanced back.  "Vampires?"

Joyce shrugged.  "Yeah.  Vampires."

He mulled that over.  "Okay."  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
"Five."

"I'm in."

"Call.  Show 'em."

"Sorry, boys, two pair.  Aces high."  Max smiled as she laid down her cards and pulled in the coins from the center of the table.  Even though she'd royally trounced the crew at the Fishbowl when she'd first arrived in Sunnydale, they'd easily accepted her back into their group.  Especially since she had taken out some of the "trash" while she was there.  So, they let her play poker with them, no questions asked, and in return she didn't cheat.  So they trusted her – and played with nickels.

She picked up the deck to shuffle, and glanced at each of the players in turn.  As rough as they purported themselves to be, they were basically good guys.  But even good guys could have grey areas…  Casually, she asked, "Any of you boys got any illegals contacts?"

The group grew silent, glancing at each other before Squid took the lead and asked, "Illegals?"  He looked at Ashton and Sludge before turning back to Max.

"Meds?"

Squid narrowed his eyes.  "Drugs?  Max, _you _asking about drugs?"

"Not drugs," she replied.  "Dealers.  Meds specifically.  Something I need to get."

Ashton rubbed the scar on his cheek before saying, "You don't strike me as a user, Max.  What's up with that?"

Max shook her head.  "Not a user."  She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the ever present headache.  "Just need something.  Tryptophan."

"Never heard of it.  What is it?"  Ashton asked.

Max shrugged.  "Something Wal-mart doesn't sell.  Can you help me or not?"

Again, silence as the men looked at each other.  Finally, Squid replied, "I may know a couple people.  Gonna take some time."

Max sighed and began dealing the cards.  "All I got right now is time."  _Too much, and not enough.  Not **nearly** enough.  
_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
"I don't get it."  

Buffy grunted as the vampire's foot connected with her chest.  She dodged the next blow and returned with a hard right punch, glaring in disgust at the vamp's Sonny and Cher t-shirt.  "I mean, come on.  I could see if maybe you were turned back at Woodstock or something, but I went to high school with you!"  She dodged another kick, spun, and elbowed him in the face.  "So is there—" kick "—something—" kick "—about the martial artsy stuff that makes you lose all fashion sense?!"  A final kick and a fast jab with the stake, and the vampire was nothing more than dust.  

Buffy sighed.  "And, of course, they always disappear before I hear the answer."

Buffy stopped by a gravestone to pick up her bag of weapons before leaving the graveyard.  As she approached the fence, she noticed a figure standing just beyond the boundaries of the gate.  The dark obscured the identity of the figure until Buffy was close enough to recognize her.  She sighed to herself as she couldn't help but think she'd rather it have been another vampire.  Or a demon even.

"Max," she greeted when she was in range.  "What are you doing here?"

Max glanced down at the bag of weapons, and back up to Buffy.  "I was in the area.  Thought I'd stop and watch you work."

"You watched?"  Buffy looked at the tall, wood slats of the fence.  "X-ray vision or something?"

Max stared at Buffy before answering, "No.  I sat in a tree."

Buffy noticed the tree a few feet away and felt stupid.  "Oh.  I just thought… being all… _special_… and all, that might be the type of trick your makers programmed you with."  Buffy saw Max's face darken, and recalled the same expression at Willow's words a few nights ago.  _Programmed_.  Buffy suddenly recognized the expression as a mix of discomfort, anger, and hurt.  A dangerous combination.  "Wrong word."

Max ignored the subtle apology and said, "X-ray vision – not my trick.  Night vision, telescopic vision – more my flavor of _programming_."

"Oh."  Buffy decided that she should leave that line of conversation alone.  She turned and began walking, not really caring whether Max followed or not.  A quick glance to the side confirmed that Max had decided to join her.  "So you watched.  What'd you think?"

Max shrugged, keeping her head forward.  "I think you killed a vampire.  They're the ones that need a broom and dustpan when they're done for, right?"

Buffy couldn't help but chuckle.  "Those are the ones, all right."

Max's lips twisted upward in a slight, but ironic grin as she said, "So I guess that makes you a dustbuster?"

Buffy groaned.  "God, that was horrible.  Stand-up comic DNA gone bad."  Buffy shook her head.  "If you'd made a crack like that while we'd been fighting, I wouldn't have had to stake him.  He would have imploded in a shower of dust on his own."

Max's grin fell away.  "No."

"No?  No what?"

"You won't find me fighting alongside you."

Buffy's eyebrows knit together.  She tried to push back a surge of resentment as she replied, "Why not?  You've got the ability, you should use it.  With your kill ratio and mine, we could really make a dent in the evil population."

Max's eyes narrowed before she looked away.  "Just because I've got _ability_ doesn't mean I have to use it.  This whole fighting evil dealio is your problem, not mine."

"I just thought—"

"Yeah, you just thought.  I'm not here to sign up for your little crusade.  And you can tell your CO that, as well."

"CO?  Like the Council?  Well, I kinda showed them who was boss so they shouldn—"

"What?  Council?  No.  I meant the Brit."

"Giles?  No, he's on our side.  He's _my_ Watcher."

"Fine.  Watcher.  Whatever."  Max lengthened her strides, picking up the pace a little.

Buffy kept quiet, somehow knowing that anything she'd say would be taken entirely the wrong way.  _Plus I'm sure she doesn't really want to hear me rambling on about the fairness of life.  I sure wouldn't want to hear me talk about that.  _She sighed to herself.  _Why am I even grousing about this stuff now?  I thought I'd gotten over this "can't have a normal life" thing a long time ago.  If Max has that normal life, well, good for her.  .  Not a problem._

When they reached the front porch of the Summer's residence, Max sighed and turned to Buffy.  "I don't mean to be a bitch," she began.

Buffy shook her head.  "You're not."

Max lifted a slim eyebrow.  "I am.  But that's the natural order of things.  I'm actually pretty happy being the bitch that I am.  It's just that… you don't understand things yet.  And, to be honest, I'm hoping we get back to where we belong before you begin to understand."

Buffy smiled.  "Well, you know, I kind of hope you go back soon, too.  No… I mean, I'd like you to be here, but…  damn it, you know what I mean."

Max laughed and held out a hand, which Buffy grasped.  They shook hands in an odd truce, both able to feel the strength of the other.  Buffy opened the front door and turned to Max, who shook her head.

"I'm going to hang out here for a bit, if you don't mind," Max said.  "I… don't sleep much."

Buffy smiled.  "Hate to tell you, but Dawn had that one figured out the first night you were here."  Buffy saw the surprise flash in Max's eyes, and said, "No skin off my back.  Have fun," and went inside.  

Max waited about 15 minutes, and then went in herself.  She really had no intention of hanging out on the front porch.  Her preferred thinking spot was elsewhere in the house. Or rather, _on_ the house.  As she came in through the front door, she paused, verifying that Logan was asleep.  She stared at his sleeping form for a moment before continuing on.

She quietly moved through the interior, hearing nothing but the thin breaths of the sleeping occupants.  She stopped to get something from the hall closet, just as she had for several nights now.  Easing through Dawn's bedroom, briefly noting the girl half-hanging off the side of her bed in her sleep, Max opened the window and stepped out onto the roof.

Sitting beneath the stars, she opened the photo album and stared at the pictures.  This particular album must have been put together following Dawn's birth, since it was filled with images of Dawn as a baby.  Max traced her fingers over one sweet picture of a very young, pigtailed Buffy holding the tiny newborn and grinning with all her might.  There were many more of Buffy holding Dawn, Buffy playing with Dawn, Buffy giving Dawn a bottle.  Joyce with both girls in the same activities.  A man with both girls.  Joyce and the man and the girls.  _Their father_, Max assumed, having seen him in several of the other albums she had looked at.  _A family_._  A normal life.  Perfect.  _

For hours, as the stars rose and set above her, Max continued to look.  And desperately tried to understand.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_February 15, 2001_

Joyce had some extra time before work, so she decided to spend it making lunches for Buffy and Dawn.  It was a task she loved, but rarely found the time to do.  There was something satisfying about making sure that her girls would be taken care of when she wasn't physically there.  And making sure they didn't live off of Cheetos and Pepsi.  She turned to get some peanut butter out of a cabinet.  As she turned back to the island in the center of the kitchen, she felt the now-familiar twinge that told her someone was watching.  Hearing the shower running in the main floor bathroom, she was positive which of her houseguests was causing the twinge.

Remembering Logan's advice, she tried to keep her movements constant as she spread the peanut butter on slices of bread.  "You don't have to play the shadow, Max.  I don't mind if you watch me," she told the empty room.  A few seconds passed, then…

"What are you doing?" Max said from behind her.

Joyce turned, and saw Max sitting on the very countertop next to the cabinet she had gotten the peanut butter from.  Joyce had no clue how Max had managed to get herself there without being seen.  _Shadow_, she thought.  Joyce walked over to the refrigerator for the apples and celery.  She pulled out a knife and began cutting the celery as she replied, "I'm making lunches for Buffy and Dawn to take to school with them." 

Max slid off the counter with a puzzled frown on her face, never wavering in that ramrod-straight posture.  "Why?  Aren't they old enough to do that themselves?  Dawn's about thirteen—"

"Fourteen," Joyce corrected.

"And Buffy's in college," Max continued, not even noting the interruption.  "Geez, you'd think they'd've learned to make a sandwich by now."

Joyce chuckled, amused at how perplexed Max looked at something so simple.  "They _do_ both know how to make sandwiches.  I just enjoy doing it from time to time."

"Why?" Max asked again.

Joyce lifted her shoulders as she packed the food into brown paper sacks.  "I guess it's just a Mom thing."

Max's frown deepened.

The rumble of footsteps on the stairs drew Joyce's attention to the doorway.  She stepped out from behind the island just as her daughters stampeded through the kitchen.  They each grabbed one of the sacks from her and offered a quick hug and kiss and an even quicker goodbye as they rushed out the back door.  "Have a great day!" Joyce called behind them as the door shut.  She turned back, only to find Max had disappeared.  She glanced around the kitchen, seeing no sign of the girl.  

Joyce sighed.  "Well, that went well," she said to the empty kitchen, and left to get ready for work.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
When Joyce returned in the afternoon, she found a surprise in the living room.  Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with what looked to be nearly every photo album in the house spread out around her.  Every surface available – chairs, couch, television, coffee table, floor, Max's lap – was in use.  "What are you doing?" Joyce asked curiously.

Max glanced up from the pictures she was looking at.  "I found these," she said.

Joyce narrowed her eyes slightly, examining Max's expression, trying to determine what lay behind the mask.  "They were in the upstairs closet," Joyce said carefully.

"That's where I found most of them," Max agreed.  "I also found four in the attic, two in Buffy's bedroom, and five under your bed."

Joyce almost choked trying to hold her laughter in.  Max's sheer audacity was almost unbelievable.  "Under my bed."

Max looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.  "Don't worry.  I remember where they all go.  I'll make sure they get back to the correct places."

This time, Joyce didn't hold back her laughter.  She knelt down and sat right next to Max on the floor, moving a small stack of albums to make room.   Looking at the pictures in front of them, she smiled fondly as she said, "I remember this.  Our first Christmas in Sunnydale.  Buffy would have been fifteen and Dawn would have been nine at the time."

Max stiffened in her place.  "Nine.  It always seems to be nine at the time," she whispered quietly.  _Only my life had barely started at nine.  _Pushing down the twisting feelings in her stomach at the thought, she looked at Joyce.  "Where's the man?" she asked.

"The man?"

Max pulled over another album and flipped open a particular page.  The picture was of a tall man with a squarish face topped by dirty blonde hair.  His smile was soft, and kind as he looked at his young daughters.

Joyce nodded.  "That's Hank."  She paused and then added, "My ex-husband… the girls' father.  We divorced shortly before moving here."

Max shrugged, not really caring, only satisfying the vague curiosity.  Not having had a biological father, Max really had no frame of reference for what one of those might be like.  "There's got to be a billion pictures of the same thing here.  I think if you stack the pictures in these three pages and flip through them quickly, you'll get the animated version of Dawn unwrapping a stereo."

Joyce laughed.  "So I'm snap happy."

"Why don't you get rid of some of them?  You'd save some space."

Joyce was at first taken aback at the question, but a quick glance at Max proved that the question had been asked in all seriousness.  "I couldn't imagine getting rid of any of them.  It would be like trying to get rid of a memory."  She continued to look at Max as confusion shifted across the young woman's face.  "You do have photographs—"

"Of course we have photographs.  They're expensive as hell to take, but people still take them.  Several of my friends are quite 'snap happy' as well, as you put it.  But they only take pictures of what matters."

Joyce put a hand over Max's, to stop her from turning the page.  "Exactly, Max.  It matters.  This is not just for me, but for them as well."  She looked at Max, and found herself gazing into the old, tired eyes of someone who had seen too much, and didn't need photographs to remember.

Joyce pulled over another book, in an effort to distract Max from whatever thoughts she was having.  She laughed as the page she turned to had images of her pregnant, dressed as a  pumpkin for Halloween.  "Oh, dear.  _That's_ one I haven't seen in a long time."  As she began to explain the picture, she noticed Max begin to smile.

They had been looking at the pictures for over an hour when the front door opened and Buffy called out, "Mom!  We're home!"  She, Dawn, and Logan entered the doorway of the living room and stopped short at the sight of Joyce and Max surrounded by the albums.  Buffy groaned, "Oh, God, Mom.  _Tell _me you aren't torturing Max with baby pictures."

Joyce put a hand on Max's shoulder as her rigid posture became more rigid.  "Buffy, don't be rude.  We're just looking through a few pictures."

As Buffy saw the slight downcast look on Max's face, she realized that she had been rude.  "Oh.  A few.  Well, that's okay then.  I was just worried that Max would start going brain dead from all the pictures of me and Dawn in our first school plays.  I mean, there are only so many times you can look at pictures of kids dressed as apples."

Dawn looked at Buffy and said haughtily, "I was a cuter apple."

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "You used my old costume.  We looked the same."

"I still say I was cuter."

"And I think you had worms."

Max snickered.  "Joyce, I don't think we saw the apple pictures yet."

Both Dawn and Buffy leapt at an album on the coffee table and crossed their arms protectively over it.  "Don't look at it, Max," Dawn pleaded.  "We'll pay you anything if you don't look at anything from when we were in school."

Max opened her mouth to begin haggling, but Joyce interrupted.  "Speaking of school, did you get all your homework done while you were at the Magic Box, Dawn?"

Dawn sighed.  "Almost all.  Except for math.  We've started this new section and—"

"Can I take a look at it?"  Max asked.

Dawn nodded and pulled her textbook out of her book bag.  "Knock yourself out," she said, flipping it open to the correct section.

Max frowned at the title of the chapter and flipped the book open to the indicated pages.  Her jaw dropped.  "This is _it_?!" she exclaimed.

Logan and Joyce both laughed at the look on Dawn's face.

"What do you mean 'this is it?'" Dawn repeated.  "Of course this is it.  It's horrible."

"But… it's so…" Max stopped, not wanting to hurt her young friend.

Dawn crossed her arms.  "So what?"

"Easy!" Max blurted.

Dawn opened her mouth to complain, but Logan stopped her with a raised hand .  "Max," he began.  "Did you ever actually _go_ to school?"

"No," she answered.  At the silence in the room, Max turned and saw all of the Summers' staring at her gape jawed.  "What?" she asked.

"That is _so_ awesome," Dawn said.  "Mom, if she never went to school, I don't think I should have to either."

"You, hush," Joyce demanded.  She turned back to Max.  "How did you get away with never going to school?"

Max looked at Logan before replying.  "Well, when I… left… Manticore, it was three months before the Pulse hit.  A couple months later, I'd gotten… in with the Department of Children and Family Services and was placed with a foster family.  I was only with them for a month when the Pulse came and the country took a dive."

"But there still must have been schools after that.  You didn't go at all then?" Joyce asked.

"Who was going to make me?" Max replied.

"Your foster family?"

Max snorted.  "That was a bad deal from start to finish.  Been there, done that, never looked back."

"But… who took care of you?" Dawn asked softly.

Max shrugged.  "I didn't – and don't – need anyone to take care of me.  I take care of myself.  It was a pretty selfish time, after the Pulse… anybody who had the means to help was too busy trying to keep what they had to notice or care that there was one more street rat in the alley outside their door."

Max may have acted flippant, but Joyce could hear the pain in her voice, and knew that there was more to the story than what she claimed.

Buffy's mind, however, was on a different wavelength.  "Three months, one month.  That was all you two were talking about when Logan cooked that night?  Geez, the way you two sounded, you'd have thought you were guarding a military secret."

Max and Logan both grinned.  "We were," Logan said simply.  "We couldn't tell you about Manticore.  Not yet," he pointed out.  "Aside from that, I was curious as to why Max found so much of this time unfamiliar."

"And I basically told him that I wasn't in this world as long as he thought.  And the world I was in was backwoods Wyoming.  Even if there was time for me to check things out, there was nothing there _to_ check out."

"But you still didn't go to school," Dawn said enviously.

"Get off it, Dawn," Buffy told her younger sister.

"Maybe you should go," Joyce said, an idea forming.

Max was quiet for a minute.  Her eyes flashed for an instant before her face iced over, the soldier-mask sliding into place.  She stood and stonily declared, "I'll get my stuff."

Joyce looked at her blankly, and then her eyes widened in shock.  "No, no!  Max, I meant to school!  Tomorrow, with Dawn.  I'm sure if I called, they would love to have you as a guest," Joyce said.

"Oh.  You want me to go to school."

Logan looked at her and smiled at the mystified look on Max's face.  "I think it's an excellent idea, Max.  It'd be fun for you."

Max shrugged.  "Okay.  Why not?  I can handle school."

Joyce smiled.  "I'll go call the office right now.  It's early enough that someone should still be there."  She stood and quickly left the room.

Logan looked at Max and studied her face.  She seemed mildly perplexed at the fact that her entire next day had seemed to have just been planned for her.

"Hey! Did these come from my room?" Buffy exclaimed, picking up a pair of albums.

Max smiled swiftly.  "Don't worry.  I'll put them back."  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


_February 16, 2001___

Joyce took a sip of her coffee as she watched Max.  The odd thing was, she didn't think the girl noticed. _ And if that isn't ironic, I don't know what is._

Max's normally perfect posture seemed slightly bent, as though there was a weight resting on her shoulders.  She sat with one hand under the dining room table, while the other slowly stirred and gently stabbed at a bowl of oatmeal.  She seemed listless as she finally scooped up a bite, which nearly made it to her mouth before she stopped and let it plop back into the bowl.

Joyce couldn't take it anymore.  She moved from the doorway over to Max and gently placed a hand to her forehead.

Max jerked her head away in surprise.  "What are you doing?" she asked.

"In all the time you've been here, I have never seen you pick at your food.  Let me see your eyes," Joyce commanded.  When Max began to turn away, Joyce took her chin with one hand and turned her face.  She looked at Max's dark eyes, which had widened in shock.  "Not  glassy," Joyce murmured to herself, sliding the hand from Max's chin first to her cheek, and then back to her forehead.  She could feel Max tense briefly and then relax.  "You're a little warm," Joyce commented.

Max frowned and let go of her spoon, bringing her right hand up to her face.  "No," she corrected.  "I'm fine.  That's normal."

"Hmm."  Joyce regarded Max.  "I guess you would know," she said as she turned towards the kitchen.  She turned back  "You have beautiful eyes.  But I guess you would know that, too."  She turned and walked into the kitchen before she could see the puzzlement in Max's features.  "Try to eat something," she called from the other room.

Max sighed.  She still didn't understand what made the people here say and do the things they did.  It was nice, but confusing.  She scooped up some oatmeal and took a quick bite.  She looked over shoulder, checking to make sure Joyce was out of sight, and then pulled her left hand from underneath the table.  As she watched it shake, she knew she was anything but fine.  She reached out with her right hand and picked up the glass of milk she had poured and took a long drink.  She heard footsteps on the stairs, and quickly hid her hand again.  

Dawn appeared in the doorway, saying, "You're still eating?  Do you _want _to be late for your first day of class?"  She paused.  "God, I sound like Mom."

Max laughed softly.  "No, I'm done."  She picked up her glass and bowl, relieved to note that the tremors in her hand had stopped.  She carried the dishes into the kitchen, trying to not to look at Joyce as she did so.  She began to head out the back door, when Joyce's voice stopped her.

"Max," Joyce said, waiting for her to turn.  She held out a brown paper sack.  "Don't forget your lunch."  Max smiled as she took the bag, and Joyce stubbornly resisted the urge to touch her face again, or give her a hug.  "I'll pick you girls up after school.  Have a _great _day."    


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
As Dawn and Max entered the school building, they were met with a cacophony of chatter and slamming lockers.  Max glanced around at the colorful array of students, feeling a bit homesick as an image of the colorful Jam Pony crew drifted through her mind.  She shook it off as Dawn tugged on her sleeve.

"Come on.  We have to stop in the main office first to get you all signed in."

"Signed in?" Max repeated.

"Yeah," Dawn said.  "They like to know who's here, just in case.  So if you spray paint the building or something, they'd know who to come after."

Max smiled at the thought.  "They'd have to find me first."

Dawn held the door to the office open for Max, and they both entered.  The secretary looked up from her desk and gave both a broad, cheerful smile.  "Hello, Dawn.  I'm so glad you're here.  When your mother called us yesterday and said you'd be bringing your cousin in I thought, 'I bet she'll be just like Dawn.'  And you are!"

Max slowly turned to look at Dawn.  Dark brown eyes met pale blue.  Dawn had worn a long sleeved cream colored shirt with a thick brown stripe around the waist, and pants that matched.  She'd French braided her long, straight, light brown hair.  Max had worn her usual black jeans and a black biker jacket.  For a change of pace, she'd worn a blue shirt.  Her dark hair curled slightly were it sat just past her shoulders.  The only thing they really had in common was their height. 'Cousin?' she mouthed to Dawn.  

Dawn shrugged and turned back.  "Mrs. Thompson, this is my _cousin_, Max…"  Dawn's mouth hung open as she realized she didn't know what else to say.

"Guevara," Max supplied.  "Max Guevara.  Nice to meet you," she added.

"Guevara," Mrs. Thompson repeated, sticking out her hand.

Max looked down at the proffered handshake, and then looked back up.

Mrs. Thompson slowly withdrew her hand.  "I expected 'Summers.'  How are the two of you related?"

"Um… we're… well, it's like— uh," Dawn stammered.  

"Dawn's father's eldest sister is the niece of my mother's mother's brother," Max answered smoothly.

"Oh," Mrs. Thompson said, smiling.  Then the smile faded as she tried to trace that path in her mind.  Her fingers moved as she started to count something before she giving up and smiling again.  She slid a binder across her desk and held out a pen to Max.  "Well, all I need you to do, dear, is to sign in here.  I've got a Visitor's Pass already made out for you."  

Max took the pen and hesitated before sloppily signing her name.  Mrs. Thompson handed her the pass, which Max put in one of her pockets.  "You two had better get going, or you'll be late for class."  She paused as a bell sounded.  "Whoops!  There's the bell!  Run along now.  Have fun, Max."

Max smiled warily as Dawn grabbed her arm and half dragged her out of the office.  When they reached the hall, they turned and walked quickly away, lest Mrs. Thompson find some reason to call them back in.  "Please tell me everyone here isn't like her," Max asked.

Dawn smiled.  "Not to worry… _coz_.  Most of the teachers here are pleasantly dull."

Max rolled her eyes.  "Remind me to thank your mom for that alibi."

Dawn put an arm around Max's shoulders.  "She's just looking out for you.  She likes you.  We all do."  She stopped at a locker, shoved her book bag inside, and pulled out some books.  Dawn grabbed Max's lunch and threw it in as well, just before she slammed the door shut.  She then pulled Max by the arm as they rushed through the halls.

Max sighed softly, the corners of her mouth turning upwards.  "Well, I like you guys too.  I think."  Her smile became broader as Dawn laughed.  "So what's first?"

Dawn sobered up with the unfortunate reminder.  "Math," she said shortly.  She stopped in front of a door.  "Here we go," she said, pulled open the door, and walked in.

Max followed closely behind, and stopped short.  The room was crowded with rows of desk, all facing the front of the room.  Her breath caught in her throat as her mind flashed back to Manticore.  

There was a chill in the room.  Whether that was the natural state of that place, or whether it was to give the trainers some subtle psychological advantage, it didn't matter.  What mattered was that they sat with perfect posture, arms on the table surfaces with elbows at ninety degree angles and hands flat against the top.  Their bare feet were always flat against the cold concrete floor.  Any twitch, any movement for any reason, could spell punishment.

Max quickly blinked away the memory as she realized someone was talking to her.  "I'm sorry.  What?"

The teacher smiled at her.  "I said I'm Mr. McDaniels.  We're happy to have you visiting our class today."

"Oh.  I mean.  Thank you.  It's nice to be here.  I'm Max."  She ignored Dawn's puzzled frown.

He nodded.  "Max," he repeated.  "Well, Max, we don't have any extra desks, but when I heard you would be joining our class today, I brought a chair in."  He pointed towards the back of the room.

Max sighed in relief.  "I'd rather sit in a chair anyway."  She moved to the chair and watched as Dawn took her place among the other students.  She couldn't help but notice that several members of the male contingent in the classroom had turned around and were staring at her.  Max raised an eyebrow at the frank appraisal of young men who were too young, and therefore too dumb, to hide their stares.

"Eyes front, people," the teacher called to the class.  "There will be plenty of time at lunch to introduce yourselves to Dawn's cousin."  The boys simultaneously blushed and whipped their heads forward, trying to pretend like they weren't the ones Mr. McDaniels had caught looking.

The process of the class was interesting.  Max didn't think she'd be as absorbed in the lesson as she was, considering the material being taught was below an elementary level— to her, at least.  As she watched the students participate in a discussion about solving area equations, she began to wonder about her own knowledge.  _When did I learn Math_?  She had no memory of anyone sitting her down and teaching her to add or multiply or calculate pi.  Manticore must have drilled it into her somehow, but it was probably at such an early age, that it was pushed far away in her mind.

Laughter from the class broke Max's reverie.  The teacher had used what Max assumed to be a popular teen music group from that period to illustrate a problem, resulting in a discussion about how much area five dancing band members would cover in a year of concerts.  Odd way to learn, but if it worked…

The bell rang, and the students leaped from their seats, quickly gathering their books as they scattered out the door as quickly as possible.  Dawn stood a little slower as she turned to look at Max.  "Ready for the next class?"

Max blinked and looked up at the clock on the wall.  "It's been over an hour!" she exclaimed in amazement.

"Well, yeah.  Class is long.  Especially since we're on a rotational schedule.  We don't have as many classes in a day, but we've got to sit more."

Max nodded, acting like she understood the difference when in reality, she had no clue.  "Now what?"

"We get fifteen minutes between classes, and then we're going to literature."

"Sounds fun," Max said.

Literature was actually similar in tone to Math.  Max was relieved that she didn't have to sit in a desk in that room either.  The thought of sitting in one of those traps… it creeped her out. Max started to find her mind wandering again.  This time, it was because she was caught up in the story that the students were reading: selections from _Le Morte D'Arthur_.  They went around the room, each reading a paragraph or two aloud.  Max was fascinated as she heard a tale of a grand castle called Camelot that a king brought his new queen home to.  She could only imagine that the knights in shining armor and other enchanted beings that also lived there had lives full of fantasy and romance, instead of pain and death.

Original Cindy had once told her to read the story, that it was better than any two bit trash book she could pick up in the few post-pulse bookstores.  Max had searched halfheartedly, but never found it and never found the time to ask someone about it.  Now she was seeing that she should have.  Or hearing, rather.  Fifteen minutes before the end of class, Max was disappointed to see everyone set aside their books.  They had been instructed to write in their journals the feelings that had been evoked while reading.  Max thought she could fill an entire journal with what she had heard that day alone.

Dawn had been worried that Max would find the day boring, in comparison to what a day in the future must be like.  But as they walked the halls, she was pleased to see Max enjoying herself.  Normally, she, or they rather, would be sitting in study hall.  And sitting.  And sitting.  One "class" that really had no other purpose than to let students get caught up on homework or other projects.  But when Max and Dawn walked into the room, and the eyes of every young guy in the room bugged out of their heads.  Mrs. Davis' eyes, however, merely rolled heavenward.   "You know what?  I think it might be a good idea if you gave your cousin a school tour."  She lowered her voice and leaned close to Dawn.  "Just to save her from dealing with all the testosterone."

Max, hearing all that just fine, desperately tried not laugh out loud as she followed Dawn back out the door.

 They visited the library, the gym, and the grounds of the school.  More importantly, they talked.  Dawn had recalled Max's offer from before, of being willing to at least listen to any questions the girl had.  Dawn smiled, thinking that she had caught Max in an answering mood.  They mostly talked about what life was like – _would_ be like – in Max's time.  Max spoke in vague terms when necessary, and Dawn understood the reasons for that.  But there was still enough detail that she hung on every word.

Max even got brave and spoke a little on the past when Dawn asked.  Max told her, "I was thinking earlier that I don't really remember learning the basics like numbers and learning how to read.  It's certainly not something you can get from your genes.  DNA doesn't know English from Spanish after all.  All I can figure was that it was like a lot of the other things we learned.  Rote teaching."

Dawn knew that there was probably more to it than that, but decided that it would be best to take everything Max said as a simple truth and didn't really need expanding questions.  So she took the conversation a different way as they strolled outside.  "Was there anything you liked doing there?  At Man— Manicore?" Dawn asked, struggling to remember the name she had heard.

"Manticore," Max corrected.  She was silent for a moment as she pondered the question.  She smiled.  "The equivalent would be gymnastics drills.  I love to jump and flip.  To be as high as possible."  She tipped her head back to the sky and threw her arms out like wings.  "To fly."

Dawn could hear the exhilaration rising in Max's voice with even those few words.  "Airplane DNA?" Dawn asked smartly.

Max laughed, feeling free.  "Who knows what they stirred up in the soup of me.  I mean, come on.  What could they possibly have been thinking when they—"  She stopped speaking suddenly as she stumbled, a wave of dizziness washing through her head and crashing over her body.

Dawn brought her arms up quickly to steady Max.  Her friend had gone from fine to not in the blink of an eye.  "Are you okay?"  _Dumb question, Dawn_, she chastised herself.

Max shook her head sharply to clear the dizziness from her brain.  Oddly enough, it seemed to work.  Kind of.  "Yeah, I think so," she said carefully.  She realized she was leaning on Dawn and carefully extricated herself from the girl's arms.  "I just got a little dizzy is all.  I'm fine now."

Dawn sighed with relief.  "Well, as long as you're okay.  You're probably just hungry.  We can go back inside now.  It's almost lunchtime."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea.  Lunch."  She followed Dawn to her locker and got out the bag that Joyce had packed.  She peeked inside and smiled.  "Peanut butter and jelly?"

Dawn chuckled.  "Favorite lunch of high school students everywhere.  We'll get some milk in the cafeteria."

That statement relieved Max more than Dawn could possibly know.  And brought Max's mind back to the previous moment.  She touched Dawn on the arm, growing serious.  She looked down for a second, in a brief prayer that the girl would help her.  "About earlier, when I…" She stopped, took a breath, and continued.  "Would you mind keeping that between the two of us?  I just… I don't want Logan to know.  He worries," she tried to explain.

Dawn nodded, in complete understanding.  "Mom worries about me, too.  I won't tell."

Max put a friendly arm around Dawn's shoulders.  "I believe you were about to show me the cafeteria."

"I knew there was a reason you wanted to come to school.  New source of food," Dawn groused, rolling her eyes.

The cafeteria was just as chaotic as the halls, only louder.  Max and Dawn walked through the lunch line to quickly grab a couple cartons of milk each and then went to join a small table with several girls sitting around it.

"Max, this is Elizabeth and Chantal, a couple of my friends.  Guys, this is my cousin, Max," Dawn introduced, taking a seat.

"Hi," the girls said in unison, trying to give secret glares to Dawn for bringing an adult in their midst.

Max raised an eyebrow at them, realizing that she was being considered an interloper.  So she ignored the looks and grabbed one of the chairs, swinging it around to straddle it backwards.  "Nice to meet a pair of coz's peeps."

The girls blinked and looked at each other, then to Dawn.  "We didn't know you had a cousin," Elizabeth said.

"And you sure didn't tell us she was cool," Chantal added.

Both Dawn and Max grinned.  "We're kind of distant cousins," Dawn admitted to them.  _Really, really, really, really distant._

"But, thanks to Dawn here, I've got some decent clothes to wear while I'm in town.  The airline somehow managed to swing with my luggage.  Sista girl here hooked me up at the mall.  Knew all the chillin' places to go.  It was a bitch replacing it all, but it gave me and Dawn chance to kick it."  Max laid the slang on a little thicker than usual and the effect the effort had on Dawn was apparent.  

Dawn seemed happier.  Max kept playing up her unusualness to Dawn's friends, sensing that made them more impressed with Dawn somehow.  _Whack teenage logic,_ probably.  But while she listened to the other girls talk about a couple of the guys in their class, her attention was drawn to another conversation in the cafeteria.

"I don't know what trash heap Dawn pulled that ho out of, but it's rather distracting when all the guys around are busy throwing their eyeballs at that chick's chest," Max heard a high-pitched female voice say.  "I mean, come on.  She looks like some skanky biker chick or something.  And nobody comes by those looks naturally.  They only come with lots of good surgery.  Dawn better hope that wherever she bought her cousin, they take returns."

Max slowly twisted her spine in a stretch that turned her line of sight towards the speaker.  She saw a teenager with golden blonde hair and looks that could only be described as prissy.  "Who's that?" she asked the group.

All three girls at the table sighed simultaneously.  "That's Kirsti," Elizabeth told Max.

"Possibly the biggest bee-atch in this entire school," Chantal added.

"Nobody important," Dawn threw in, with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"Uh huh."  Max looked away from the bitch princess as the bell rang.  "Come on.  We gotta bounce."  They began to leave the cafeteria when she told Dawn, "Hold up outside.  I'm going to grab another milk real quick."  She watched Dawn until she was out the door, and then went to get a carton.  Right before she left the cafeteria, she took a detour by Kirsti, who had stood to take her tray to the cleaning cart.  As Max walked by, she causally slid one heel backwards and to the side.  When she felt her foot make contact with Kirsti's, she gave it a quick jerk.

Kirsti fell forward.  Unable to stop her momentum, she tumbled to the floor, landing directly on her tray.  As the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter, she quickly stood up and looked down at her blouse, which had salad dressing stains all over it.  Her face turned bright red as she tried to scream over the din, "Who did this to me?!"

Outside the cafeteria, Dawn watched Max casually step out of the cafeteria, finishing off a carton of milk.  "That was fun," she said over the laughter emerging from within.

Dawn frowned.  "What's everyone laughing about?"

Max shrugged innocently.  "I don't know.  Think someone tripped."

"That's all it'll take to set people off around here.  Some people are so childish," she said primly.

Max couldn't help but agree.  "So… next?"

"Art."

"Art?  What's the point of teaching you that?" Max asked in confusion.

Dawn furrowed her brow.  "A point? To art?  You are familiar with art, right?"

"Of course I am," Max replied indignantly.  "I'm completely familiar with Picasso, Monet, and all sorts of dead folks like that.  You don't get very far as a thief if you don't know what you're selling."

Dawn blinked at Max's audacity.  She remarked, "You're very straightforward, aren't you?  You don't hide who you are."

"I hide plenty," Max said with a smile.  "But there's no point in fronting on the little stuff.  All that is, is me surviving, Dawn.  Nothing less, nothing more."

"I get that."  Dawn looked down for a moment.  "Thanks for not… not treating me like, well, a kid.  Like I'm too young to hear things."

"I'm not gonna take you out to find you a whisky and a lay, Dawn.  But, like I said, no point."  Max ended the conversation succinctly as they entered a room filled with easels rather than the usual desks.  

After another round of introductions, Max found herself staring at one of those easels.  She'd expected to observe, like the other classes.  However, a piece of graphite was placed in her hands and she was gently directed to where she now stood.  "Draw your spirit," had been the instructions.  _My spirit_, she thought, not without a touch of sadness.  _How can I draw something I'm not even sure I have?_

She glanced to the side, trying to see what Dawn and some of the other students were drawing.  To her eye, they weren't drawing much.  Mostly abstract shapes and haphazard shadows.  No help there.  She rolled the graphite between her fingers, watching as her skin blackened with the dust from the carbon.  She moved the graphite to her other hand as she tried to rub her fingers to get the dust off.  It just seemed to stick even better.  Frowning, she tried to wipe a finger on the canvas.  The dust didn't come completely off, but it did make an interesting streak.

Max tilted her head at the sight of the streak.  Somehow, it seemed to take on a shape of its own.  She rubbed more of the graphite on her fingers, and began to add more streaks.  Time somehow began to shift away from her, and all that was in front of her was her work.

"That's really good," Dawn said from over her shoulder.  

Max blinked out of her reverie and looked at what she had drawn.  It wasn't necessarily outstanding, but neither was it bad.  Her finger smudges had taken on the shapes of feathers, and the feathers converged to form a single wing, appearing out of a shadow.

Dawn leaned a little closer to the picture.  She pointed to a spot.  "You didn't draw all the way through here.  It's disconnected."

Max ran a finger along the edge of the white line that cut across the wing.  Broken.  A piece detached from the whole.  Appropriate.  She tried to think of some kind of response to Dawn's words, but failed and settled for a one-shouldered shrug.  Luckily, the bell rang, saving her from explanation.

"Well, I have to turn my picture in, but you can keep yours," Dawn said.

Max glanced over at Dawn's drawing.  "It looks like lint," she stated, before realizing that the words may not have been the best to say.

Dawn took Max's comment in stride, looking at the fuzzy ball she had drawn.  "Closest I could get."  

They both grabbed their drawings, Dawn placing hers on the teacher's desk, and they left the room.  They stopped by Dawn's locker to drop off Max's drawing and to pick up a book.  Dawn sighed with relief.  "Almost done, Max.  All that's left is biology."

"Biology.  How bad can that be?"

Dawn smiled.  "Congratulations.  You've almost survived your first day of school."

"Piece of cake," Max said as they walked into the next classroom.

_Meet the Teacher, Round four_, Max thought.  This time, however, was a little different…  

"Is that short for Maxine?" Mr. Alsach asked.

"Uh, not really," Max responded.  "It's just Max."

"Max Guevara," Dawn added helpfully.

"Well, Max Guevara, welcome to Eighth Grade Biology.  Have a seat."  He gestured towards the rear of the classroom.  "Lisa, would you mind moving so Max could sit by Dawn?  Thanks."

Max watched a girl get up from her seat and move to an empty desk .  Her stomach churned as she realized where she would have to sit.

"If you want to have a seat there, Max, we can get on with the fun," Mr. Alsach said cheerfully.

Max nodded, and walked towards the desk.  The closer she got, the bigger it seemed to get, as though it would swallow her whole.  She reached out a tentative hand and touched the surface of the desktop.  She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not, but she thought the surface felt cold.  She glanced up from it and saw Dawn turning and looking at her with a puzzled expression on her face.  Max shook her head slightly and slid into the seat.  She gritted her teeth against the instinct that made her automatically press her hands flat against the top.  Instead, she pulled her hands into fists, and waited for the lecture to begin.

Mr. Alsach walked to the front of the room.  "All right students, today we continue the exploration of the human body," he said, ignoring the snickers of several students.  He started writing on the blackboard.  "Last time we were talking about how respiration is an autonomic process.  We all have to breathe.  We know this.  Your body knows this, too."  _Control_, he underlined on the board.  "But even though it's autonomic, we have some control as well."

The room slowly spun away.  The children and the desks dimmed in her vision, and all that was left was her… and him… and the word.

"Control!  You have no control!  There is no _you_!  There is _only_ your unit.  The only control you have is over the decisions you make for the benefit of your unit."

Max stared at him in shock and fear.  She wanted to run, but her hands and feet were rooted in position.  Looking down, she saw that her fingers had flattened themselves again_.  I can't move!  Why am I here? Control.  They have control.  No, I have control.  Stop thinking of them as separate creatures, Max.  They're **your** hands._

She stared at her hands, and was relieved to see her fingers twitch, and then bend.  She heard laughter.  _This isn't right.  There is no laughter here._

"SO, now that I've got my intro out of the way, we'll continue on to the real joy of science."  He patted a projector at the front of the room and waved off the groans.  "Slideshows!  Every teacher's favorite torture method."

Max watched him push the projector towards the middle of the classroom.  

"Jeff, can you hit the lights?" the teacher asked a student in the front corner.  He flipped the switch on the projector and spoke as the screen flashed to life.  He read off the slide, "The Respiratory System: Breathe It or Not."

The room seemed to tunnel around her again, until all that was in her vision was the screen.  Colors bled away, until only shades of grey existed.  Max saw other words.

_Slide... flash  _

**Determination.  **

_Flash.  _

**Teamwork.  **

_Another. _

**Life is Manticore_._**

Max drew a sharp breath and tried to force the images away.  Somewhere, a distant voice was talking about the passage of air through the nose and into the lungs.  She tried to focus on his words, but with each successive click of the slides, X5-452 was pulled further and further into the past.

_Hours of continuation… the only movement, a change of images_

**Loyalty.**

_Cold.  Still air.  And flash._

**Know your enemy.**

_Flattened palms… straightened spines.  Cold concrete.  And grey._

**Without Manticore, you are nothing.**

The teacher continued on for several minutes, oblivious.  When he finished the lesson, he walked over to turn the lights back on.  "Okay, now that we've finished the wonderful world of air, next week we'll be moving on to—"  He paused and blinked as he turned back to the room and saw that one desk was empty.  "To water.  Or rather, the passage thereof.  I'll leave it to your teenage imaginations to fill in the blanks for which body system is left.  We've got a few minutes before school lets out for the day, so if you want to get a jump start on the assignment, here's your chance."

Dawn turned to say something to Max.  Her jaw dropped as she saw Max was gone.  Max would have needed to walk up to the front of the room to get out, but apparently no one, including Dawn, had noticed.  Dawn heard a tap on her desktop and looked up to see Mr. Alsach standing there.

He cocked his head towards the door.  "Why don't you go see what happened?  School's almost out, so why don't you go ahead and take your stuff."

Dawn nodded, picked up her stuff,  and tried not to rush out of the room.  The halls were still empty, since everyone in the school was still in class – or should have been in class.  Not really sure where to look first, she decided to start at her locker.  Which was exactly where she found Max.

Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor, in front of the locker next to Dawn's, elbows on her knees and chin resting on her fists.  She stared at the wall opposite her.

Dawn approached quietly.  "Max?" she said softly.

Max took a deep breath and continued staring into space.  "I'm done.  I'm not going back there."

Dawn was silent for a moment, taking in the paleness of Max's face.  Then she nodded timidly.  "It's okay.  We can leave."  Max didn't move.  "Max… are you okay?"

Max continued to stare.  "I need to get out."

Dawn kept a worried eye on Max as she slowly opened her locker and packed her book bag with homework.  She also picked up Max's drawing, since she didn't think Max herself would remember.  She shut the locker gently, not wanting to startle the other girl.  A futile move, since the bell did it for her.

Max clamored to her feet in a smooth, quick move, crossing her arms in front of her chest and trying not to look at the students flooding out of the classrooms.  She turned sharply on one heel, and began walking towards the main doors of the school.  Her voice was flat and emotionless as she asked over her shoulder, "Do I have to sign out?"

"No, I— I don't think so," Dawn said, still trying to figure out what had happened to upset Max so badly.  They walked out of the building together, quickly spotting Joyce parked amid the slew of other people picking up students.  

When they reached the car, Dawn pulled open the back door and threw her bag inside, gently setting the drawing on top.  Max didn't touch the front door.  She stood outside staring at the handle.  She vaguely heard Joyce speaking and looked up.

"Max, are you going to get in?" Joyce asked, her brows knit together in concern.

Max was mute for another moment before she answered.  "Actually, I think I need to take a little walk.  I'll meet up at the Magic Box later."  Without waiting for a response, she turned and quickly walked away.

Both Joyce and Dawn watched in astonishment as Max's pace carried her swiftly through the crowd and away down the road.   Oddly enough, she wasn't headed toward home or the Magic Box.  Dawn finally shut the back door and sat in the front.  Joyce turned to her youngest daughter and asked, "Did something happen?"

Dawn shook her head.  "I don't know.  I don't think so.  She seemed to be okay, but…"  Dawn stopped as she remembered her promise.  She figured that "Don't tell Logan" actually included her mom as well.  "I thought she was having fun, but I guess not," she finished.

Joyce frowned, but turned the car on and drove away.  She soon pulled up in front of the Magic Box, put on the brake, and looked at Dawn.  "Have fun.  Give Buffy my love and I'll see you this evening."

Dawn opened the car door saying, "Okay, Mom.  See you later."  She hopped out, but paused in her walk and turned back.  "Mom…"

Joyce nodded.  "I'll find her."

Dawn sighed with relief.  "Thanks."  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Joyce found Max quicker than she expected.  She knew it was probably because the girl wouldn't have thought anyone would look for her.  Joyce tried to quell the rising anger she felt at that thought – anger at whoever would have tortured a child so much that it resonated through every action made by the adult she had become.  She slowed down as she drove up behind Max, who had kept walking slowly in the direction she had started.  

Max looked at the car as Joyce pulled up next to her and rolled down the passenger window.  

"Get in the car."  

Max tilted her head warily, but didn't respond.  

"Get in the car," Joyce repeated.  

Max slowly stepped to the door, grasped the handle, and after taking a moment to compose herself, got in.

Joyce started driving.  Max looked at her in surprise when she didn't go back towards the house or town, but instead went in the direction Max had been walking.  "Where are we going?" she asked.

The blonde woman didn't answer.  Instead, she took a turn and started driving down another road.  "Sunnydale was founded by a group of Spanish missionaries.  They originally called it 'La Boca del Infierno.'"

"The mouth of hell," Max translated.  "Looks like they had the 411 on this place.  So why did they stay here?"

Joyce shrugged.  "Who knows?  Why do you want to go back to your Seattle, even though life is so much more difficult there?"

Max sighed, "Because it's home.  It's what I know."  She rested her head against the window.

"Probably the same for them, too."  Joyce continued, almost rambling as she mentioned a few more of the historical facts, landmarks, and even current events of the town.  She kept her voice quiet, soft.  Comforting.  She looked out the corner of her eye as Max took a deep breath and let her eyes slowly drift close.  

Joyce stopped talking as she pulled up to a high point with a beautiful view that overlooked the town.  She cut off the engine and waited.

Max's entire body jerked as she sat up and looked around in confusion.  Wide-eyed she looked at Joyce.  "Where are we?"

Joyce shrugged.  "It doesn't really have a name, but the view is great.  Almost drifted off there, didn't you."

Max rubbed her eyes.  "Almost.  Why are we here?"

"Because I think you needed a little time to sort things out before dealing with the rabble at the Magic Box."

"They're waiting for me, aren't they?"  Max looked out the passenger window again.

"Probably," Joyce agreed.  She waited.

Max's head whipped around to look at her in irritation.  "So, what –  you've sent me to a corner until I can behave?"

Joyce had one daughter who had been a teen and another who was currently passing through that hellish stage.  Max didn't scare her.  "Don't take that tone with me," she replied severely.  "You can ask Buffy and Dawn.  I don't take attitude."

Max was dumbfounded.  "I didn't—"

"You did," Joyce interrupted.  "But that's okay.  I'll take it as a compliment.  For a whole five seconds, you were able to relax.  Ten if I count when you closed your eyes."

"Bonus points for that one," Max mumbled.

Joyce chuckled briefly, and then sobered again.  "It would have been okay not to go."

Max looked at her hands.  "I didn't realize… I mean I knew, but…" she took another breath.  "I thought it'd be fine."

"Were you that nervous this morning?" Joyce asked.

Max shook her head.  "No, I… I just wasn't hungry."

Joyce looked at Max, and could tell she was lying.  She started the car.  "Maybe when you can trust me more, you can tell me the truth."

Max closed her eyes again.  "Trust gets people hurt."

"People like you?"

"People like me," Max agreed.  "People like you, people like Logan—"

"Logan?" Joyce asked, fairly certain she knew what she was referring to.

"My fault," Max whispered.

Joyce was quite surprised by Max's admission, considering that Logan himself had said nothing like that.  "Is that why you've stayed close to him?" 

Max hesitated.  "At first, yes.  Then a funny thing happened."

"He became your friend."

Max was quiet.  Joyce pulled out and began to drive back to town.  Max looked at the road ahead, thinking.  Finally, she said softly, "Yeah.  My friend."

Neither woman said anything for the rest of the drive.  They pulled up to the Magic Box and Joyce parked the car.  Both got out and headed to the main door, but Max stopped Joyce by lightly touching her arm.

Max swallowed, steeling herself.  "I _want_ to trust you."

"And I want to_ know_ you," Joyce replied.  Max looked away.  "Max, you'll be going home.  It's not going to be as simple for us as writing a letter or picking up the phone.  We'll need to wait 20 years to even talk to you again.  Let's just say that I think we've got a lot of time to start making up for."  Joyce watched Max absorb that, and then slowly smile.  _Truly_ smile.  The change completely lit her face, making her look… innocent.  Joyce smiled back at her.  "Let's go inside."

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Buffy looked up from the book she was examining as the bell over the door chimed.  She was flabbergasted to see her Mom enter the shop with Max in tow.  Her mother had never been one to just drop by.  Drop _off_, maybe.  Actually, she thought that, in a way, the place might wig Joyce out a bit.  

"Mom?  What are you doing here?"  Buffy glanced over at Dawn, who was sitting and working on her  homework.  Her Mom couldn't be there for family reasons so… "Everything okay?"

Joyce raised her eyebrows.  Buffy always seemed to be worrying about either her or Dawn.  "Everything's fine," she told her.  "I gave Max a lift and thought I'd drop in and see how everyone was doing."  She gave Dawn a hug and walked over to Buffy.

"Drop in?" Buffy repeated dumbly.

"Drop in."  Joyce gave her eldest a quick peck on the top of her head.  "Is it really so unusual?"

"Yes!"

Joyce laughed and looked back at Max, who seemed ill at ease.  _She doesn't understand, does she?_  "You've all spent so much time here lately.  You should think about doing something to relax."

"Like what?" Max asked.  "Last time we stopped to relax, we ended up here."  She walked over to where Logan was sitting with a stack of books and plunked herself down into a seat next to him.

"We should have a party," Dawn declared.

Max stared at her.  "A what?"

Buffy smiled.  "I like that idea.  We haven't had a party since, well… oh.  Well, that was…  Anyway, what do you think we should we celebrate?"  Her smile was a bit too brilliant, and there was a touch of panic in her eyes.  

"Well, Max and Logan have been here for a week," Giles began.

"Ooo!  Ooo!  I got it!" Willow exclaimed.  "We'll throw them an 'I Survived a Week on the Hellmouth' Party!"

Giles looked pained.  "That's… not quite what I had in mind."

"No, it's perfect!" Buffy enthused.  "That is _definitely_ an event to celebrate around here.  Whaddya say, Mom?  Party at our place?"

Joyce nodded.  "Why not?  Why don't we make it an old-fashioned Sunday afternoon picnic?  Lots of food, games, conversation."

Logan turned to Max.  "In the mood for a party?"

She shrugged.  "Couldn't be any worse than the 'Normal has hives' parties we'd throw at Crash."

Logan chuckled, remembering one of those events that he'd attended.  Definitely couldn't be any worse.  "So who's going to man the grill?" he asked.  Logan slowly wilted under the heat of the glares from six pairs of female eyes.  He cleared his throat.  "Figuratively, I mean."  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Go to Chapter 7 - Who We've Become

Back to Literary Ramblings


	8. Chapter 7: Who We've Become

A/N: Don't forget to read Chapter 6 first!!

**Chapter 7 – Who We've Become**

_February 17, 2001_

Max happily spent the morning at Wal-mart.  Buffy and Logan didn't have nearly as much fun, since neither much liked party shopping.  Logan did enjoy the smile on Max's face for a change, since she was able to lose herself for a few minutes and ignore where they were.  After they finished up shopping, they dropped off their purchases at home and headed over to the Magic Box for a few hours of research.

All of Buffy's friends had shown up, but whether any of them were doing research on Max and Logan's predicament was highly debatable.  

"Why don't I help for a while?" Dawn offered.  

"No," Buffy replied testily.

"Please?"

"No!"

"Why not?" Dawn pouted.

Buffy narrowed her eyes at her sister.  "Because those books are like sixty times older than you.  NO!"

Max snorted under her breath.  _Whatever** that** was supposed to mean, _she thought, rolling her eyes.

Logan looked up and saw Max moving around in the upper level of the shop.  _She really seems to like it up there.  Never can never stay grounded, can she? _he thought to himself as he flipped through the pages of a red leather covered volume.  He stopped as he came to a rather… unique wood-cut drawing.  He whistled low under his breath and he tilted his head slowly to the left to improve his view.

"One of the perks of research," Buffy said, smiling.

Logan looked up quickly, desperately hoping his flushed cheeks weren't too obvious.  He smiled ruefully.  "Let's just say that I am getting an education here."

On the balcony, Max set a book back on the shelf with a sigh of exasperation.  She ran a hand through her hair, trying to figure out why she even bothered with the research.  _It's not like I even have a clue what the dealio with all this is.  Besides, Giles has some chief witch or watcher or whatever looking into this for us._  But Max knew she couldn't leave this alone for someone else to take care of.  Her lips twisted into a wry grimace.  _Actually, can't really leave **anything **alone, can I? _ She reached towards another book on the shelf.  Her fingers touched the leathery binding – and stopped.  She frowned as her hand would not bend to grasp the book.  With a chilled sense of foreboding, she tried again.  The  ancient volume stubbornly evaded her grip.  She watched as her fingers straightened with a quick jerk and a small spasm ran through her hand, then she paled as the uncooperative digits assumed a clawed position as they began to tremble.

Max's heart thudded with growing dread.  _No. _ _Please… not here.  _

Xander looked at Buffy and a red-faced Logan, both of whom were laughing uncontrollably.  "If you'll bookmark that page for me later, Logan, why don't we all run and get some lunch?"

"And that was a non sequitur if I've ever heard one," Buffy said sarcastically.  "But a great idea."  She stood and hollered over her shoulder to the rest of the shop, "Lunch!"

In response to her clarion call to grub, a tidal wave of people pushed its way toward the front door of the shop.  As Anya turned to lock up behind the stragglers, Dawn grabbed her hand.  "Wait!  Max isn't here."

Logan blinked in surprise as he looked at the group.  Sure enough, Dawn was right.  Everyone had made it out but Max.  "She was upstairs.  She must have heard Buffy call for lunch."

"Undoubtedly," Giles muttered, rubbing his temple.

"She was probably just really into a book or something.  I'll go get her," Dawn volunteered as she scampered back inside.

The echo of the bell's happy chime hung for a moment in the silence of the shop before dying away.  Dawn glanced around, slightly unnerved by the complete stillness.  Her eyes settled on the railing where Max usually sat, but it was empty.  Dawn's heart skipped a beat as the image of her friend stumbling the day before flitted through her mind.  She walked deliberately over to the stairs and began to climb.

Max had scrunched herself as far as she could into a corner of the shelves.  Her legs were pulled up close to her chest, and her head rested on her knees.  Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, but even so, Dawn could see them shaking.

She rushed over and knelt in front of Max.  "Oh, my God!  What's wrong?"

Max lifted her head.  "Dawn, please.  Just… go."  She raised her hands to shield herself, but her arms began to shake harder.  

"Maybe I can help—" 

"No!" Max barked.  She gripped Dawn's arms as the shaking increased until it seemed as though she would shake apart at the shoulders.  Her vision started to blur.  Jondy's face came into focus for a moment before Dawn's reappeared.  Her grip tightened.

Dawn winced.  "Max – ow!.  Let go, that hurts!"

Max's arms shook even harder as her fingers seemed to anchor themselves in place.  "Let me go," Max repeated.

Dawn's face contorted in pain.  If she hadn't already been kneeling, her legs might have given out on her.  "Stop… let go!"

Max blinked hard as the young girl's face seemed to glow.  Some part of Max's brain that was still coherent wondered, _Since__ when does Dawn glow green?  _Her fingernails dug into the other girl's arms.  "Let me go!" she echoed.

Dawn couldn't help herself.  She cried out in pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside, Buffy stood with the others, wondering what could be taking them so long.  She turned to Logan.  "Dawn probably started talking Max's ear off and forgot what she went to get her for."  She waved an arm at everyone as she grabbed the keys out of Anya's hands and clasped the doorknob.  "Why don't you all go on?  We'll catch up."

"Tell Max we won't save any pizza for her if she doesn't hurry," Logan said as he turned with the rest of the group.

Buffy walked into the shop.  There was no sign of either girl.  "Dawn?  Max?" she called, with no reply.  The she heard muffled voices from the balcony.  She wasn't even halfway to the foot of the stairs when she heard her little sister's cry.  "Dawn!"  

Her first running leap carried her two-thirds of the way up the metal steps.  She landed with her hands gripping the top of the rails, and vaulted herself the rest of the way up, to hit the floor already racing to her sister's side.  She skidded to a stop and knelt beside Max and Dawn.  Max's arms were shaking violently and she had a death grip on Dawn.  Buffy saw Max look at Dawn and blink her eyes as if in confusion.  

"Let me go!" Max shouted.  She closed her eyes tight and gave her head a quick shake, as though to clear the images from it.  But when her eyes opened on Dawn, she squinted as if staring right into the sun, and looked away towards the darkness of the corner.

Dawn tried not to whimper as she said, "Max, I can't.  You're the one holding me."

Max's head slowly turned to look at Buffy, and she could see her own fear reflected in the blonde girl's eyes.  "Buffy, help, please," she whispered.

Buffy put her hands over Max's and pulled at her fingers, surprised at the strength of the grip.  When she had managed to loosen her grasp enough, Dawn jerked and fell backwards, sitting hard. 

Buffy turned back to Max, who had withdrawn even further into her corner.  "Dawn, go downstairs."  When Dawn began to protest, she snapped, "Now!"

"No!"  Buffy's focus was broken from Max for a moment to Dawn, who had braced herself for the impending objection.  When Buffy opened her mouth, Dawn interrupted.  "I'm not going.  Let me help."

_One battle at a time_.  Buffy turned back to Max.  "What's happening to you?"

Max shook her head.  "My pocket," she said quietly, as Buffy's words began to pull her scattered thoughts back together.

Buffy's brows knit in confusion.  "Your pocket?"  As Max attempted to gesture to the left pocket of her jacket with a trembling hand, Buffy understood what Max wanted her to do.  She reached into Max's pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

Seeing Buffy stare blankly at the money, Max said, "Milk… please."

Buffy, to her credit, didn't ask any more questions.  She just shoved the money at Dawn and barked, "Milk.  Go, quick!"  Dawn ran down the stairs and out the door.  When Buffy heard the bell stop chiming, she turned back to Max.

Max forestalled the question.  "Just my hands," she said raising the shaking appendages.

Buffy swallowed slightly.  Unless Max considered everything under her shoulders her hands… "Looks like your arms, too."

Max shrugged her shoulders, the movement almost lost among the trembles.  "Whatever."  She looked at her hands and glared at them slightly, as if the sheer force of her will could grant her power over this insidious weakness.

"Milk will help?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah.  It will," Max said with a definitive tone in her voice.  She looked up at Buffy with an odd light in her eyes.  "What did you do before you became the  Slayer?"

Buffy blinked, nonplussed.  "Well, I was just… a girl.  Went to school, hung with friends, teased my sister.  You know.  Kid stuff."

"Kid stuff," Max repeated with a barely audible sigh.  "What did you like to do?"

"What did I like to do?"  Buffy was beginning to think that Max was becoming delirious.  "I don't know.  Ice skate?  I did ice skate a lot.  And I was a cheerleader at one point in time."

"You know, I can see you as a cheerleader."  Max grinned at the irony in the statement.

"Well, wow, Maxie, like, I don't know why, like, you'd think that."  Buffy couldn't help but relax a bit as Max laughed.  They both turned as the bell clattered brightly through the shop.  "Dawn's back."

"You think?"

Feet pounded up the stairs.  Dawn appeared, breathing heavily.  She was carrying two large cartons of milk.  "I wasn't sure… what kind… so I—" 

"Doesn't matter," Max told her.

She opened one of the cartons and handed it to Buffy, who wrapped Max's fingers around it for her.  Max drank the milk greedily, trying not to spill or splash it down her face.  One humiliation was enough for any day.  She took a gasping breaths between gulps as she finished off the carton.  "Thanks," Max nodded to Dawn.

"Sure," Dawn said timidly.  She couldn't help but stare as the trembling in Max's arms and hands slowly decreased until it completely stopped.

Max flexed her fingers one by one, to make sure everything was in working order.  She ignored the looks of the Summers girls as she shook out her wrists and elbows and rolled her shoulders.  Then she moved to stand, shrugging off Buffy's assistance.  "I'm okay.  We can go now.  I heard something about lunch?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed as Dawn's widened.  "Wait a minute.  What just happened here?"

"Nothing," Max stated as she stretched out a kink from her neck.  She felt a little shaky on her feet, but the more she moved, the better she began to feel.  She ignored Dawn and Buffy as she brushed by them to back down the stairs.  

The sisters looked at each other and moved quickly to the top of the stairs, looking down at Max who had quickly reached the bottom.  "Seemed like a whole lot of something to me," Buffy commented.

Max turned her back on them and repeated sharply, "It was _nothing_."  She pulled open the door and stepped outside.

"We'd better catch up," Dawn said slowly.  

Max arrived at the Pizza Parlor ahead of Dawn and Buffy.  They walked in as Max was taking a seat and as Logan was asking her, "What took you so long?"

Before Max could reply, Dawn exclaimed, "My jacket!"  Every eye at the table was suddenly fastened on her, and she shifted uncomfortably.  "I… uh, I forgot my jacket.  So Max was helping me look for it."

"So… where is it?" Xander asked with a slight smirk, challenging the Dawn cover-up.

"She'd forgotten to even bring it," Buffy cut in smoothly, rolling her eyes.  "Then she'd forgotten that she'd forgotten.  I swear, Dawn, I don't know how you even make it through the day."

"Hey!  It's not like I do it all the time!"

"Oh, come on.  How about when—"

"How about you girls put that energy to eating pizza," Giles interrupted.

Max took a large slice herself.  Just as she brought it to her mouth, she looked between Buffy and Dawn.  She mouthed the words 'thank you.'

Buffy and Dawn looked at each other and smiled, their earlier concern beginning to fade.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
_February 18, 2001_

The sky was a perfect,  clear blue.  The kind of sky only seen in movies where "happily ever after" reigns.  Max couldn't help but sit and be… content.  For one day, she wasn't being hunted or tracked.  She didn't have to be cautious.  Today, she was at an old-fashioned Sunday picnic.

She stepped away from the window and made her way downstairs to the kitchen… and found herself immersed in pure chaos.

Max stopped and stared at the herd of people crammed into the small room.  She took a quick head count, and saw that there was no one there other than the people she had met over the past week – and Logan – but the close proximity made nine people seem like ninety.

Joyce looked up from pouring drinks and saw Max standing in the doorway, looking slightly unsure of herself.  An idea flitted across her mind and she leaned down and whispered something in her youngest daughter's ear.  Dawn grinned and, pushing herself through the crowd, went out in the garage.

"Max!" Willow called out, smiling broadly in greeting.

"Hey, Max.  How ya doin'?" Xander asked.

Anya walked over and put her hand in his, eyeing Max suspiciously.

Max saw the movement and smiled sweetly, if only to torture the blonde woman.  "I'm doing well.  And you?" she purred.

Xander swallowed as Anya moved her arm to link elbows with him and pull him out the back door.  Giles followed them out with a plate of uncooked steaks, chicken, and hamburgers, shaking his head.

Logan looked at Max.  "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Max asked innocently, going outside with the rest of the group.  She paused as she noticed the ramp that hadn't been there the night before.  "When did this get put down?" she asked.

Logan grinned impishly at her.  "Maybe if you hadn't taken over an hour in the shower, you'd have known about it."

Max eyed him darkly and was about to comment, when suddenly a blue disk was obstructing her vision.  She pushed the object away, and saw Dawn's smiling face behind it.

"Ready to play?" Dawn asked.

Max blinked and looked back at Joyce, who was watching Xander and Giles fuss over the grill.  Narrowing her eyes, Max began to get an idea of what Joyce had whispered to Dawn.  Max turned back to the girl and repeated, "Play?"

Dawn rolled her eyes.  "Yes, _play_.  Something commonly done at picnics." She paused as a thought occurred to her.  "You _have_ seen a Frisbee before, haven't you?"  she asked, waving the disc a little.

Max tilted her chin haughtily as she said in an indignant tone, "Of course I've seen a Frisbee.  Sketchy had a Frisbee."

"Sketchy?"

"A friend."

Dawn grinned.  "Sketchy.  Okay.  Well, so you've seen a Frisbee.  That's a start, at least.  Now, have you ever _played_ Frisbee?"

Max swore every pair of eyes in the backyard were locked on her, waiting for her answer.  She would have killed for a hole to open underneath her right about then.  Anything to take away from her self-consciousness.  She crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged.  "So what if I haven't?"  _Yeah, a hole might be nice right about now. Then again, a meteor would be good, too.  And so much classier_.

Dawn, for her part, was sensitive enough to Max's feelings that she didn't acknowledge the discomfort.  "Well, if you haven't, then I'll teach you."  She picked up Max's right hand to place the Frisbee in it, but stopped and asked, "Right or left?"

Max looked at Dawn, puzzled.  "Does it matter?"

Dawn opened her mouth and closed it again, puzzled herself.  "I guess not… if you can use both.  But since I can't… you'll be right-handed today," she declared.

Max laughed in spite of herself.  "Most days I am right-handed, I guess.  Just never really thought of it.  Always used whichever was convenient."

Dawn manipulated Max's fingers easily, folding them into a good position around the Frisbee's edge.  She stepped back and made a throwing motion with her wrist.  "Go ahead."

Max looked down at the Frisbee and repeated the motion, throwing it lightly.

The Frisbee only flew about three feet before turning sideways in the air and doing a mean nosedive towards the ground.

Dawn looked at Max sympathetically before walking over to pick up the Frisbee.  "That's okay.  It usually takes a while to get the hang of it."  She quickly jogged towards the back fence and called, "Like this!"  She threw the Frisbee in a perfect line to Max, who caught it easily.  Dawn grinned, "You caught it!  Good job!"

Buffy called out, "She's not a two year old or a terrier, Dawn!"  

Max just shook her head and dropped the Frisbee at her feet.  She stripped off her jacket, leaving only the white t-shirt that she wore underneath.  She picked up the Frisbee and said, "Alright, now I'm going to beat this bitch."

Sure enough, she did get the hang of it, after about a dozen more throws.  Max was a bit frustrated that it took that long, but blamed it on the unstable aerodynamics of the Frisbee itself, rather than her own lack of skill.

Logan watched Max with a soft smile on his face as she threw the disk with only a hint of wobble.  She looked so proud to have mastered something as simple as throwing a Frisbee, but Logan knew that it was more than that.  This smooth flight of a simple, blue plastic disk was another step towards normalcy for her.  Standing in the grass of the backyard with the sun shining on her hair, illuminating the red highlights in it like fire, she looked truly carefree…

"She's finally beginning to relax, isn't she," Joyce stated from a seat next to him.

Logan turned his chair so he wouldn't have to crane his neck to look at her.  "She finally is," he agreed.  "I'd honestly never thought it would happen.  But here she is… playing Frisbee."  Joyce laughed in agreement and they both watched Dawn and Max for a few minutes, Giles and Xander chatting quietly behind them at the grill.

"Joyce, thank you for this.  For all of this," Logan said quietly.  "Taking in a pair of strangers, letting them stay for more than a week, even though you know they haven't always been as truthful as they've purported to be…"

Joyce waved him off.  "No thanks necessary.  I've enjoyed having you here.  It's just going to be hard to let you go, knowing what you'll have to go back to."  At Logan's wary look, she shook her head.  "Buffy and Giles and the others have concerns that don't let them think much beyond tomorrow.  I, however, can take the time to think on other things and their meanings."  She smiled as she watched Dawn test Max by throwing the Frisbee a little higher each time.  Max was keeping up, of course, her feet leaving the ground a little more with each jump.  "Like the future... or the meaning of a chimera learning how to play Frisbee."

Joyce glanced back towards the grill as the conversation there seemed to heat up.  She frowned and asked, "Do you happen to know why Anya is draped all over Xander?"

Logan looked at the couple and saw that Anya couldn't have gotten any closer to Xander if they were sharing the same clothes.  "Oh, _that_.  Unfortunately, that's partly Max's fault.  Max and Anya really don't… get along… well.  At all.  Ever.  So, Anya treats Max like a common criminal and Max terrorizes Anya every chance she gets.  Personally, I think the only way those two could ever make peace is for one or both of them to stop breathing.  Permanently."

Joyce laughed as she saw Max stretch and scratch her shoulder, a simple move which seemed to take on a sensuous tone.  A quick glance at Anya and Joyce saw the blonde's right eye twitching as she clutched closer to Xander, apparently trying to crawl into his skin.  "Doesn't Anya realize that Max is taken?"

"Taken?  By who?" Logan asked blankly.  Then he caught the wicked look in Joyce's eyes.  "Now who's terrorizing who?  Seriously, we're—"

"Just friends.  Right."  Joyce laughed again to herself as she caught the hint of a flush on Logan's face as he glanced back at Max.

Luckily, Logan was saved from responding by Buffy, Tara, and Willow coming out of the house.  "Mom,"  Buffy called.  "We're out of soda."

Joyce blinked.  "We are?  How did that happen?"

"Well, we didn't pick up any at Wal-mart because I figured we had some left over from my birthday.  But it turns out we drank most of it.  All we have left is a gallon of milk and half a jug of orange juice,"  Buffy said.  "And water.  You know, healthy junk."

Joyce sighed and moved to stand.  "I guess I'll make a quick run to the store.  Knowing how you kids party, we'll need a lot."

Buffy shook her head.  "No, don't get up.  You stay and rest.  Enjoy the party.  Xander'll take me.  Right, Xander?"

Xander looked up from the grill at the sound of his name.  "Huh?  What am I doing?"

"Taking me to the store," Buffy said.  "Get your keys."

"Right-o."  Xander reached into his pocket.  "Got 'em right here.  Logan, cover me at the grill, would you?"

"No problem," Logan said as he unlocked his brakes and moved towards the grill.

Buffy smiled and called, "See you guys later!  We'll be back in a jiff."

"Bye!" Dawn called back, throwing the Frisbee.

The Frisbee seemed to go wild – a high, fast throw completely across the yard from Max.

Not one to let a throw go by, Max sped across the yard.  She jumped, using the deck rail as a springboard to further propel herself upward.  She caught the Frisbee mid-leap and flipped,  landing gently on the deck.  She turned to look at Buffy, who was drop-jawed with everyone else, and said a cheerful, "Catch ya later!" before jumping again, easily clearing the rail.

Dawn was too busy grinning at Max's acrobatics to notice the Frisbee arcing in her direction.  She yelped as it went sailing over her head, and went chasing after it.

"Did you see that?!" Xander whispered to Buffy, who was attempting to steer him towards the front of the house.

"Yeah, I saw," she said.  "And so did Anya.  So you'd better stop looking."

A few minutes later, Logan went inside the house to look for a barbecue fork, since the meat was nearly done.  Max and Dawn continued their game of Frisbee in an increasingly competitive fashion.

Max looked up to the sky after a short catch that brought her to the middle of the yard.  The sun seemed to be getting brighter.  Confused, she looked at Dawn… who was wreathed in the faintest fluorescent green aura.  She suddenly knew what was about to happen, and, when she fearfully looked down at the Frisbee, saw it was shaking in her hand.  Shaking _because_ of her hand.

Dawn looked at Max, concerned when the young woman stopped and stared at her before looking down at her hand.  Following her gaze, Dawn could see that the shaking from the day before had returned.  She watched the Frisbee slowly slip from Max's grasp and fall softly to the ground.  Dawn's eyes met Max's, and she could see the panic flash in her face.  "Max?" she questioned.

Max continued to stare at Dawn as she realized that she wasn't going to be able to pass this one off as 'shaky hands.'  She turned, but only made it a single step before she felt the seizure crash over her like a giant wave and spread through her entire body.  As she shook, she collapsed.

"Max!" Dawn screamed, as she saw her friend fall.  The girl ran and dropped to her knees at Max's side.  "Max!  Please… what's happening?"

Max's eyes fixed themselves upon Dawn, but she didn't respond… merely shook harder.

Giles, Tara, Willow, Anya, and Joyce all heard Dawn's scream, and their heads snapped towards the girl, as they watched her run to Max.  They all leaped from their seats and ran out into the yard, clustering around the fallen pair.  "Logan!" Joyce yelled towards the house as she ran with the group.

Giles kneeled with Dawn.  "Dawn, please move back," he asked as he bent over Max's trembling form.  He grabbed hold of Max's shoulders and tried to shift her out of the fetal position she had curled into.

"Watch her tongue!"  Willow exclaimed.  "Maybe... maybe we should be careful and not let her swallow her tongue!"  

"Oh, no, go ahead, let her swallow it," Anya piped up cheerfully.

Willow shot her an uncompromising glare, then turned to Tara.  "Sweetie… I'm right, right?  Don't let her swallow her tongue?"

Tara patted Willow on the shoulder, while watching Giles speak to Max.  "Let Mr. Giles take care of it.  He'll let us know what to do."

Giles held Max's face in both of his hands, trying to focus her attention.  "Max.  Can you hear me?"

Max nodded through the shaking, but didn't trust herself to speak.

Logan came out of the house, holding the barbecue fork and smiling, ready to make a comment on Giles' cooking ability.  The smile fell away when he saw the crowd in the middle of the yard and Max on the ground.  He quickly pushed himself down the ramp and through the group until he was by Max's side, leaning down to lay a hand gently on her face.  "Max," he said forcefully, drawing her attention away from Giles.  "Where is your tryp—" he stopped, as a memory from when they had first arrived flashed through his mind.

_Max reached into the pockets of her leather jacket and started pulling out the contents: a set of keys, a small tube of cherry lip balm, a couple lock picks, and a small wad of cash all clattered to the table top._

Logan closed his eyes in horrified realization.  The one thing he should have seen… wasn't there.  And he never even thought to question its absence.  "That's what all that money was for, wasn't it," he said softly.

Max tried to take a deep breath, but the shaking turned it into a sharp gasp.  "I didn't w-want you to kn-know," she managed.  Her eyes drifted shut.

Logan looked up at Dawn.  "Can you get some—"

"Milk.  Right," Dawn said as she stood and ran into the house.

Logan didn't stop to ponder how the girl knew what to do.  Instead, he looked at Joyce and asked, "Do you know any place we can get tryptophan?"

Perplexed, Joyce shook her head.  "Tryptophan?"

Logan silently cursed this world they had found themselves in, where Wal-mart would sell you thirty-six different varieties of toothpaste, but didn't carry tryptophan.  

"Maybe we should call 911," Tara suggested timidly.

"We can't."  Logan shook his head to stop the objection.  "She just… we can't."  He turned to Giles.  "Help me get her inside."

The shaking began to decrease, and Max felt a pair of hands slide underneath her and gently lift her off the ground.  She opened her eyes to see Giles once again.

As Giles settled Max in his arms and moved towards the house, he marveled at how light she was.  Not that he would have expected her to be heavy, but rather... to have more of a presence.  The girl who had stood so straight and sturdy… was now a mere shivering child in his grasp.  Then he felt her stir.  

"I can walk," she murmured weakly, fighting the new waves of tremors that threatened to engulf her.

Giles couldn't help but laugh softly at her resolve, even then.  "Silly girl, I've already got you.  You can stop being so stubborn for now.  Just let go."  The laughter faded quickly as he felt a small hand clutch at his shoulder.  Max laid her head against his chest as another seizure ripped through her body.

Logan watched Max's quaking increasing again.  He quelled the rising guilt he felt as he looked at Giles and said, "Can you take her upstairs?  Put her in Dawn's bed, maybe?"  Giles nodded and carried Max up the stairs, careful to keep his grip light but firm.

Dawn appeared holding a large glass of milk.  "You're just going to leave her?" Dawn asked Logan accusingly.

"Who said I was staying down here?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xander pulled his car up to the curb in front of the Summers' house.  "We can go right around through the side gate," he said to Buffy, "for immediate partyage."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she picked up a couple liters of soda.  "Right.  Because the entire 20 seconds it would take us to go through the house to get to the backyard is just too long to wait."

Xander smiled at her as he grabbed the bag of ice they'd decided to get.  "Exactly.  20 seconds – too long.  We're still trying to work our way up from shindig to hootenanny.  20 seconds could be the deciding factor."

They stopped at the gate, Buffy laughing slightly.  "Let's be careful.  Might get decapitated with a Frisbee."  She slowly pushed it open and looked around its edge.  "Xander," she said sharply, throwing open the gate. 

Xander looked over her shoulder and saw that the yard was deserted.  "Whoa."

"Where is everybody?" she asked, moving into the yard.

"Aw, geez!" Xander shouted, running over to the grill.  He lifted the lid and watched as a black billow of smoke rose into the air.  Coughing and waving a hand in front of his face, he reached down to turn off the gas and grimaced as he surveyed the charred contents.  "Anyone place an order for well done?" he quipped smartly.

Buffy looked up from the abandoned Frisbee in the middle of the yard, a worried expression on her face.  "Hello!  Where did everybody go?" she called, striding briskly past Xander into the house.  She flung open the door leading into the kitchen.  "Mom?  Dawn?" she yelled, a cold fear starting to grow.  She moved into the living room and saw her mother laying on the couch.  "Mom!"

Joyce opened her eyes and she sat up.  "Oh, Buffy!  You're back," she said.

Buffy gestured around the empty room.  "Where _is_ everybody?"

Joyce rubbed her forehead as she answered, "Rupert and the girls decided to leave.  Dawn, Max, and Logan are upstairs."

"Oh."  She nodded…  then blinked, and frowned.  _Wait a minute_… "_Logan__'s_ upstairs?"

Joyce sighed as her mind focused and realized that Buffy and Xander had been gone during the crisis.  "We had… a bit of a problem while you two were gone," she began.

Xander nodded.  "Kinda figured that by the lumps of carbon out on the grill."

Joyce's eyes widened.  "We completely forgot!  My God, we could have set something on fire!  What if—"

"Mom," Buffy interrupted.  "Is Dawn okay?"

"Dawn's fine," she responded.  "It's Max."

Buffy and Xander shared a look.  "Max?" Xander repeated.

Joyce stood slowly, stretching tired muscles.  "Max had a seizure.  She was fine and then she was… shaking."

"That's what that was – yesterday," Buffy said quietly.  "A seizure?"

Joyce's eyes widened.  "You knew about this?"

Buffy sighed.  "Her arms were shaking.  But… it went away.  And she made it seem like it was nothing."

"Well, unfortunately, it's not nothing anymore."

Xander cleared his throat.  "Can I do anything?" he asked.

Joyce shook her head.  "Thanks, Xander, but… I don't think so.  Everyone else left because really… there's nothing we can do right now."

Xander nodded.  "I guess… I'll just go try to find Anya."

Buffy and Joyce looked at each other for a few quiet seconds after Xander left.  Finally, Buffy broke the eye contact, her eyes darting towards the stairs.

Joyce smiled.  "I'm sure she'd like to see you."

"Maybe… I'll go see if they need anything."  

"While you're up there, why don't you try to get Dawn away for a bit?  Give Max some peace and quiet."

Buffy placed one foot reluctantly on the bottom step.  _It's not that hard, Buffy.  You've been doing  this walking thing for, like, ever.  One foot in front of the other_.   Funny… she'd battled hordes of demons, vampires, and other creepy crawlies and never batted an eyelash.But climbing one set of stairs to face one sick girl made her want to run and hide.  

Giving herself a little shake, she forced herself to climb the rest of the way up.  She heard laughter as she reached the top of the stairs and followed the sound into the doorway of Dawn's room.  The lights were off, but the curtains were drawn to allow sunlight to brighten the room.  Dawn perched near the foot of the bed, jabbering something about zombies.  Logan was parked to the side of the bed, holding Max's hand and gently stroking her face with the other.  A small part of Buffy's mind couldn't help but marvel at the irony in this situation.  _Why does it always seem to take some kind of life or death scenario to get two people to admit how they feel about each other?_

Max laughed softly as Dawn continued her story.  She looked almost content, even as her body broke the stillness with the occasional jerk.

"And then she shoved the shovel… straight through her eyes!  It made the grossest noise," Dawn continued.

"Hey, it got the job done, didn't it?" Buffy commented mildly, making her presence known.  Max lifted her head as Buffy entered the room.  She made a move to rise, which Buffy waved off.  "How're you feeling?"

Max smiled wryly as another small shiver ran through her body.  "A little punk, but okay, thanks to the better half of a cow," she said, indicating an empty glass of milk on the nightstand.  "Four of those and I'm as good as new."

Buffy frowned.  "Maybe you should go to the hospital or someth—"

"No," Max and Logan said in emphatic unison.  They looked at each other for a silent instant, obviously debating what needed to be said.

Logan finally took the lead.  "It's too dangerous for Max to be at a hospital.  A doctor gets curious as to why tests results are coming out strange, does a little investigating.  Manticore catches wind…"

"And I'm dead," Max said.

Logan clarified.  "Manticore was desperate to find her before.  But if they find out there is a full grown X5 out in the world…"

"They're going to have the world's biggest mad-on to get me.  Just gotta try to ride this thing out.  If I really need to, I'll go.  Logan knows when that is, but until then…"  She smiled at Logan.  "Guess you'll have to put up with 'Sweet Max' for a while."

He laughed at the reminder, and stroked her hair again.  "To tell you the truth, I'd rather put up with the bitch I know…"

When Dawn giggled at the two of them, Buffy was reminded of the other reason she had come up there.  "Dawn?  Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Dawn nodded and stepped out into the hall with Buffy.  "What's up?"

"How's she – really?" Buffy asked quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the pair that was only feet away.

"They told you—"

"_You _tell me."

Dawn sighed and looked back into the room.  "Not good.  It was scary, Buffy.  She totally collapsed and…" she stopped and shook her head.  "I can't explain it.  But I hope you never have to see it for yourself."

"I hope so, too."  Buffy and Dawn watched the displaced pair for a few seconds.  As Buffy saw Max's eyes drooping more and more, she laid a hand on Dawn's arm and said, "Come on.  Why don't you come downstairs with me for a while – give them some peace?"

Before Dawn could reply, Max's eyes sprang open completely and she rolled onto her side, pushing herself up.  Her arms trembled with the effort of holding her body weight up, and she began to shake again.  "No!  She can – she can stay."  Max finally gave up the fight and dropped back onto the bed.  "It's okay, Buffy.  She's no problem.  I'd – I'd like her to stay."

Buffy relented, and stepped back into the room with Dawn.  "If it's okay with you, then that's fine.  But Dawn,"  she cautioned, turning sternly to her sister, "do _not _overstay your welcome.  The minute Max falls asleep, come find me."

Dawn nodded, and Buffy left the room.  As she got to the top of the stairs she heard Dawn ask, "So you were listening in on our conversation?"

Max replied, "Of course.  Why wouldn't I be?"

Buffy chuckled and shook her head as she descended the stairs.  "Smart ass even when she's sick," she mumbled.  She headed into the kitchen to salvage some lunch.

Dawn came down the stairs about ten minutes later.  "Buffy?" she called.

"Mmmhmnphmwwm," Buffy said around her sandwich.  She watched Dawn wander into the kitchen.  "Max asleep already?"

Dawn shook her head.  "Nope.  She's actually kind of wired, in a completely exhausted way.  Logan asked me to come get you."

Buffy blinked.  "He did?  Why?"

Dawn shifted uncomfortably.  "He, uh… he needs your help to get back down the stairs."

"Oh.  Right."

Dawn rushed to continue, "He figured that since I'll be there to keep an eye on Max, he can start making some phone calls and see if he can find some of the stuff that'll help her… some kind of medicine."

The two girls walked back towards the stairs.  Dawn paused in the front hall and asked, "They like each other, don't they?"

Buffy couldn't help but grin.  "Yeah, they do.  But I'm not sure if _they_ know that yet."

A gleam appeared in Dawn's eyes.  "So… are we going to help them clue in?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and gave Dawn a small shove up the stairs.  "Let's worry about that _later_, shall we?"

Reentering Dawn's room, they saw Max lying with one hand over her eyes, as Logan pulled the shades and closed the curtains.  He turned to explain, "The light was starting to bother her."

"I think it's half the cause of my headache," Max muttered.  She uncovered her eyes and grinned cockily at Logan.  "The other half will be leaving shortly."

"Ha.  Ha.  Ha," Logan mocked, turning to wheel out of the room.

As Dawn resumed her place by the bed, Max's limbs jerked slightly, and she returned her hand to her eyes.  "Do you mind getting that other light?" she asked in a weak voice.

Logan turned back in the doorway.  Glancing around the room, he confirmed that all the windows were covered, and the ceiling light was off.  "Which other light?" he asked, frowning as he watched her body quiver again.

"The green one," she replied with a yawn.

Logan didn't notice Dawn's eyes meeting Buffy's in shock.  He sighed and told Max, "I'll see what I can do," before leaving.

Buffy almost missed his exit and caught up with him by the stairs.  Before she could say anything, Logan said, "I'm sorry about that.  That's a weird side effect of the seizures."

"What do you mean?"

"Max has told me that sometimes she has flashbacks when she has the seizures.  She probably thought that she was seeing a light, and it wasn't even there," he explained.

Buffy didn't say anything, but she knew that in this case, Max actually was seeing a "green light."  It was sitting by the bed, talking to her like a fourteen-year-old.

"So, do you think you'd be able to help me?" Logan asked, indicating first himself and then the stairs.

"Oh!" Buffy said, startled from her thoughts.  "Sure.  No problem.  What do you need?"  

"Just grab the chair," he replied, sliding off the seat and onto the floor.  He then began scooting himself down the stairs.

_Only a few months ago "help" was such a foreign word.  I would have thrown my chair down these stairs, probably wrecking it in the process before asking someone to just carry it,_ Logan thought wryly.  _How times have changed_.  But even that memory drifted away as once more, his thoughts focused on Max.  "Could you give me Willow or Tara's phone number?" he asked Buffy as she gently set the chair down on the main floor.  He placed his hands on the seat and quickly pushed himself up and re-seated himself.

"Well, that's easy enough.  It's the same number," Buffy said.  "Why?  You think a spell might help Max?"

Logan shook his head adamantly as he pushed himself towards the kitchen.  "Absolutely not.  I think a spell would be the last thing that would help Max."

"Then—"

"I want to see if they can help me track down some tryptophan.  It's sometimes used in homeopathy, and I figured they may have a contact or two in that area."

"You might try asking Giles, too.  He always seems to have friends in strange places," she pointed out.

"Good idea."  Logan pulled the phone book from a desk drawer and began turning pages to see what he could find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was rather strained and subdued.  No one quite seemed to know what to say.  The shadows of the day still sat upon them all, as they waited for a sunrise that they knew would be long in coming.

"So… Dawn, do you have any big plans for school tomorrow?" Logan asked, trying to make conversation.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Max make a half-hearted attempt to eat her salad.

Dawn sighed.  "Yeah, the plan is to go, stay for a while, whittle some weapons in woodshop, maybe rid the world of all evil, avert an apocalypse or two.  You know, same old."

"Ah, those were the days," Buffy said wistfully.

"Do you want a ride home?" Joyce asked her daughter.

"Nope.  I'll just walk back.  Haven't done that in a while," Dawn said.

A sharp _clink_ echoed through the dining room as Max dropped her fork.  She didn't even glance up as she said, "Sorry," and flexed her shaky fingers.  She picked up her glass of milk and took a quick drink.

"Besides that, no plans," Dawn finished weakly.

Buffy, Joyce, and Logan nodded, sharing a look that silently pleaded with each other to find something else to say.

"Shit!" Max hissed as she dropped her fork again.

Joyce looked at Max with concern.  "Are you okay?"

Max stared at her hand as it shook, and her shoulders slumped a little in resignation.  "I think I've lost my appetite.  I'm going to go lie down for a while."  She refused to look any of them in the eye as she gingerly got up from the table and walked out of the dining room.

Logan watched her walk out the door.  It was hard not to compare the beautiful goddess who had boldly stared down the barrel of his rifle so long ago with the hunched, pain-wracked creature who could barely hold up her head as she all but crawled from the room.  He stared blindly at the doorway where Max had disappeared.  Then his face hardened as he realized that he'd never heard her footsteps on the stairs.  He pushed back from the table and, ignoring the questioning looks from the Summers women, left the dining room.  

Max was sitting on the steps, leaning back against the bars of the banister as her body slowly rocked.  She looked up towards the head of the stairs with a vacant expression in her eyes.  Logan gently took her chin in one hand until she looked at him.  "I do-don't think I ca- I can…" she stopped, unable to finish.

Logan didn't need her to finish to understand.  "Why don't we go into the living room, maybe watch some TV for a while?  You know, make fun of all the lame-ass shows of this decade."

Max's smile was slightly lopsided as she responded, "D-doesn't sound too b-bad, actually.  Maybe we can find some-something dirty and violent to warp Dawn's mind."

"That's the spirit."

Joyce and Dawn were clearing the table as Buffy stood slowly, glancing towards the doorway that their guests had disappeared through.  After a moment of debate, she turned to her mother and said, "I think I'm going to go out a little early tonight.  Try to do a little extra slaying."

Joyce nodded, but Dawn frowned.  "You're going to leave _now_?"

"Vampires aren't going to wait for Max to be back on her feet, Dawn," Buffy said, a little harshly.

Dawn seemed taken aback for a moment, but then she simply shrugged.  "Whatever.  I'm going to make some popcorn to eat while I get warped."

The weather was warm enough outside that Buffy decided that she didn't need her jacket.  Or at least that was what she told herself as she left through the back door, never looking towards the living room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Geez, _Buffy thought as she made her way across the backyard towards her house.  _Was there an undead convention in LA and I just didn't get the memo?  Where'd all the creepy-crawlies get to? _ _You'd think at least **one** would show up so I could kick its ass._  

Contrary to what she had told Dawn, it almost seemed like the vampires _were_ waiting for Max to get back on her feet.  Buffy hadn't seen any demons, vamps, or any other unsavory, undead characters the whole time she was out patrolling.  Granted, she only looked for a few hours, but still... at nearly eleven, there should be _something_ up and about in this town.  Well, besides her.  As she let herself in the back door, she turned the knob slowly, not wanting to wake anyone.

Except for Logan, who was in the kitchen as she entered.  He raised an eyebrow and said, "You're back early.  I thought it'd take you a long time to… uh… slay."

Buffy shrugged.  "Goes pretty quick if there's nothing out there _to_ slay."

"That makes sense."  Logan wheeled over to the refrigerator and replaced the milk jug that Buffy hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

Buffy glanced at the tall glass of milk sitting on the island.  "I don't suppose that's for you, is it?"

 Logan smiled.  "I'm actually not very fond of milk."

Buffy was silent for a moment.  "How's she doing?"  Her voice was quiet and tentative.

Logan's smile fell away.  He said nothing, just inclined his head towards the living room.

Buffy reluctantly picked up the glass of the milk.  She didn't know why the thought of seeing Max made her so… _itchy_, but she had been trying to avoid her all evening.  It wasn't like she hadn't seen her have a seizure before… except the worst seizure she had seen wasn't the worst.  That was yet to come.

Finally, she gave herself a little mental shake.  _Come on Buffy, this is silly.  Just **talk** to her for pity's sake._  With that, she turned and walked to the doorway… and stopped in shock.

Max was curled up in a tiny ball on the sofa.  Her arms locked around her knees, which she had pulled up to her chest.  Even then, she couldn't control the massive tremors that quaked through her body.  Her breath was coming in shallow gasps, punctuated by the occasional grunt of pain.

Buffy's feet were glued to the floor. She couldn't move a muscle as she watched Max – her friend – huddled there.

"This is the price of perfection."  Logan's quiet voice came from behind her.

Buffy felt the blood drain from her face in mortified realization.  "You heard that?" she whispered.

Logan shook his head.  "No.  But she did."

"I didn't mean—"

"She knows you didn't.  So do I.  But do _you_?"  He carefully took the glass of milk from Buffy's hand, placed it between his knees, and moved over to Max, softly calling her name as he reached her side.

Buffy didn't wait to see if Max woke up.  She ducked her head, and fled upstairs with her shame. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_It had been quite some time since Buffy had last been there, but not much had changed.  Boxes littered the room… remnants of half-forgotten memories and hard lessons learned.  Buffy resisted the urge to open one of the cartons. They weren't her memories – they were Faith's – but it also felt  too reminiscent of Pandora.  She heard a small meowing sound and turned to see a brown tabby cat sitting on a tall stack of the boxes.  A feline queen perched on her throne._

_Buffy smiled to see that Faith had been right about the cat.  It had taken care of itself pretty well.  She walked over to it and gave a gentle scratch behind one ear.  The cat clearly enjoyed the attention.  It stretched its head to rub its cheek against her slender fingers, and purred loudly.  _

_"Where's your friend?  Faith is supposed to be here, isn't she?"  But when the cat ignored her,  turning instead to lick the base of its tail, Buffy felt mildly foolish.  "I'm sorry.  She doesn't belong here anymore, does she?  Faith woke up."_

_The cat meowed in the affirmative and leaped from its place, landing with barely a sound.  It took a few steps, and when it realized that Buffy wasn't following,  turned and growled at her. _

_ Buffy held up her hands in acquiescence.  "Okay, okay, I'm right behind you."  The cat took a small trotted smoothly  to a floor length mirror in a corner.  "What do you see?" she asked as it rose on its hind legs and pawed at the glass.  She stepped around the edge and turned to face her reflection._

_Max was looking back at her._

_"Holy crap on a stick!" Buffy yelped._

_Max laughed.  "Guess again."_

_Buffy raised a hand and hesitated before touching the mirror.  Her fingers touched the solid surface of the glass.  It was so cold that it almost burned her fingertips.  "It's a mirror," Buffy stated._

_Max rolled her eyes.  "Of course it's a mirror."_

_"Then what are you doing in there, Max?"_

_"I'm not Max.  I'm your reflection."_

_"My reflection?" Buffy repeated incredulously.  "I'm sorry, but for a reflection, you're not very reflective of… well, me!"_

_Max shrugged and crossed her arms, taking a small pacing step before responding.  "That's the funny thing about mirrors.  How often do they show our true reflection?  We look in them and we say, 'I'm too short, too tall.  I wish I were thinner…  I wish that zit wasn't there… I wish had boobs.'"_

_Buffy snorted at that.  "So you're saying I want to be Max?  I think you're a little off base with that one, too."_

_Max shook her head.  "I'm not saying that at all.  But there's something she has that you want."_

_"Perfection," Buffy admitted.  "The salvation of the world not dependent on my ability to fight.  She has the choice to stay home one night or go out with friends without worrying that someone out there in the dark is dying because she's not there to fight for them."_

_"A reflection of your life," Max added._

_"Yeah.  She really is.  I sleep."_

_"I don't."_

_"I'm fair."_

_"I'm dark."_

_"I stand."_

_"I run."_

_"I fall."_

_"I fly."_

_"I die."_

_"I survive."_

_Buffy frowned.  "Survive?  You don't live?"  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cat move and looked down to see it rub its chin on the edge of the frame and paw at the glass again.  "What does she see?"  Buffy asked._

_Max shrugged.  "Who knows?  Maybe she sees a dog, or a bird, or a fish."_

_"But we see her real reflection."_

_"Because we're not her.  We see the reality."_

_Considering that, Buffy asked quietly, "And what does Max see?"_

_"Max sees," she hesitated.  "Who knows what Max sees?"  Then she shook her dark head, " No, that's not quite right.  Max is probably one of very few people who actually sees herself."_

_Buffy was surprised.  "That doesn't quite fit with the Max I know."_

_"You don't really know her, do you?" the reflection replied.  "Most of the  time Max doesn't see anything or anyone but herself."_

_"Oh.  What about __Logan__?  Does she see him?" Buffy asked slyly._

_"I really shouldn't go there," Max replied, laughing.  "The best answer I can give to that one is, maybe sometimes.  And we'll leave it at that."  She grew thoughtful.  "Do you… really want to know what she sees?"_

_Buffy wanted to say no, but she was too curious.  "Yes, I do."_

_Max held out a hand on the other side of the glass.  Buffy hesitated a second.  She slowly reached, and this time, her fingers didn't touch glass.  They passed through and touched flesh.  Buffy looked up at Max with shock.  _

_Max smiled.  "Don't stop now."  _

_Buffy took a step…_

_…and stepped into a dull, gray world of snow and ice._

_The chill immediately shot straight through to her bones.  "Why am I here again?"  Turning, she saw that she was talking to empty air.  Max was gone.  "Well, that's figures."_

_Buffy surveyed the land around her, but saw nothing that she hadn't seen before.  The same trees, the same snow, the same lifeless air._

Sprinting footsteps through snow…

_Glancing down, she saw that she was barefoot.  "Where are my shoes?" she asked herself._

_"You don't need them," a familiar British voice said._

Dogs barking in a vicious chase…

_Buffy turned and saw Giles.  "What am I doing here?"_

_"It is your turn to be the watcher," he intoned, emotionless._

Glass breaking…

_The cold air whipped around them, its bite snapping at their exposed skin.  "Giles, please!" Buffy begged.  "Tell me what that means!"_

Ice cracking and water splashing…

_He sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment before putting a hand gently on her shoulder.  "It means nothing more, and nothing less, than just that."  Giles stopped and his hand fell from Buffy's shoulder.  "This is a journey I can't take with you."_

_"Will I be alone?"_

_"No," he replied, looking past her._

_There were footsteps… but not running.  The snow crunched crisply as a single pair of feet strode across the frozen landscape.  Buffy turned.  A man stepped purposefully out of the gray shadows.  His steely blue gaze was as cold as the air as he  stared at her.  She couldn't help but the small tremble of fear that ran through her at the sight of him._

_"Is this the one?" the man asked Giles sharply._

_Giles took a breath and nodded.  "This is my… charge, Buffy Summers."_

_The man inclined his head at her.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summers."  His expression was anything but pleased.  " I'm Colonel Donald Lydecker."_

_Buffy tried to swallow back her fear.  "Good to meet you, too, uh… Colonel."_

_Lydecker nodded in acknowledgement of the title.  "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here."_

_Buffy breathed a sigh of relief.  "Actually, yeah."_

_"Yes."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Yes.  Sir."  Lydecker took a step closer to her as his face hardened.  "This teacher of yours may let you get away with that 'yeah' bullshit, but under my command, you will offer proper respect."_

_"But I didn't mean…"_

_Lydecker moved until he was nose to nose with Buffy.  "Did I give you permission to speak?" he shouted._

_"No!  Sir!" Buffy added hastily._

_Lydecker backed off a few steps.  "That's better.  You **will not** speak unless directly spoken to, is that understood?"_

_"Now you wait just a minute," Giles said, moving between them.  "Youwill not speak to her like she's one of your—"_

_"I will speak to her in whatever way I choose," Lydecker told Giles with a twisted smile on his face.  "She's not yours anymore."_

_Buffy blinked, and they were no longer outdoors.  The air, however, was just as cold and crisp in the grey room.  Underneath her bare feet, the tile felt like slabs of ice._

Ice cracking…

_"She's **mine,**" Lydecker continued.  "She's here to watch…"_

_"To be the watcher," Giles added from somewhere in the room.  _

_Buffy couldn't see him from her position, sitting at a table, staring at Lydecker._

_"And by watching, she will learn," Lydecker finished.  _

_He stepped aside to reveal a large white screen, and Buffy could see her name in bold, black print.  _

_"She will learn that she has no name."_

_The word seemed to shift out of focus, the letters running together, reforming, becoming…_

_A barcode._

_"That she is no one but who we tell her she is."_

_The images came fast and furious, one slide after another, flashing bright in the dismal dusk of the room.  Messages…_

**Obedience**

_Click._

**Reliance**

_Click._

**Teamwork**

_Click._

**Objective**

_Click._

_Five slides… ten… fifty… a hundred… a thousand.  And more.  Buffy could only sit rigid as the minutes seemed to pass like hours, as the words snapped across her vision with military precision. _

_ Finally, she dared to look out of the corners of her eyes.  Rows of children sat staring at the slides, their hands flat against the table tops, elbows at ninety degree angles, bare feet flush against the cold floor.  Their young eyes were flat, emotionless.  Lifeless._

_One child – Buffy almost hesitated to call her a girl -- slowly turned her head to the side.  Beneath the buzz cut, dark eyes, nearly black, met Buffy's.  Like the others, they were dead eyes. But far beneath the surface, there was the faintest glimmer of life… _

_"Eyes front!" Lydecker shouted.  He moved rapidly over to the young girl and leaned into her face.  _

_Buffy wanted to protest that it was her fault, that she had drawn the child's attention, but something inside made her stay silent._

_"You had no cause to move out of line, soldier!  Do you **enjoy** discipline, soldier?"_

_"Sir!  No, sir!" was the reply._

_Buffy glanced out of the corner of her eyes again.  The voice seemed so familiar…_

_"Then I will not see you move again, will I not?"_

_"No, sir!  Sir, this soldier will not move again!"_

_"See that it doesn't," Lydecker growled.  He turned to look at Buffy, and she quickly shifted her eyes to the screen in the front of the room.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Giles interrupted._

_"This isn't working," he said softly._

_Click._

Loyalty

Lydecker huffed a sharp, exasperated breath.  "Well, then, what do you suggest?"

Click.

**Dedication**

"I suggest letting her watch."

Click.

**Target**

"Will that work?"

Click.

**Allegiance**

"Couldn't hurt to try."

Click.

Manticore

_Buffy gasped.  *Manticore?* she thought.  *But that's--*_

_Click._

**Manticore is life.**

*Then this is—*

Click.

**Without Manticore, you are Nothing.**

Buffy turned her head to look at the girl.  

The girl blinked with dark, ancient eyes.

Buffy felt herself fading…

**Nothing.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


The hour was late, and they knew they should be in their cots.  Maneuvers would be early tomorrow.  Instead, they were up discussing the mission plan, to be ready.

The Colonel always wanted them to be ready… for anything.

"As far as I know, it's a drop exercise," X5-599 told the group.  "Standard gear, but loaded."

"Usual load?" X5-656 asked.

X5-599 shook his head.  "Combo – real and mock.  Responsiveness testing to unexpected failure."

Buffy felt her consciousness locked in the body of one of these soldier-children.  She had no control over anything – body, mind, sensation – and was forced to do nothing but… watch.  Thoughts rippled through, and she didn't know what they meant.

*Jack…*

"We never fail," X5-493 stated boldly.

The pain Buffy was forced to feel was horrible.  Powerful grief as someone's mind kept calling, *Jack… he failed.  JACK failed!  And now he's…* 

The image flashed through her mind: another soldier-child, eyes fluttering during roll call, collapsing, being dragged away…

_*Jack!*_

_Unable to sleep, like usual.  Looking at a trembling hand…  *They'll take me to the nomalies,* was the thought, knowing that there was no alternative._

_She tried to force her mind back to the briefing.  _

_X5-210 kept glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, worried, because she knew X5-452 was having troubles.  Worried, because she knew what X5-452 had seen._

_*What did she see?* Buffy wondered._

_*I saw…*_

_…_

_The Colonel's voice echoed through her mind, like always.  "There is always an alternative!" he said, in the commanding voice of his.  "If there is none immediately available, determine whether it is tactically sound to wait for an alternative to come.  If waiting is not an option, then create your own alternative!"_

_*I'll create an alternative,* X5-452 thought.  She eased her thin legs out from underneath the thin blanket that did nothing to keep out the chill.  She tiptoed towards the door, and saw X5-210 sit up in bed.  With a few hand motions, she told the girl, *Jondy, search and rescue, Jack*_

_X5-210's eyes widened in surprise.  *Jack?* she signed back.  *Location unknown--*_

_*Affirmative.  No rescue imminent.  Initial recon,* X5-452 replied, hands moving quickly in an attempt to camouflage the trembling one._

_*Pair?*_

_X5-452 shook her head.  *Solo.*_

_*Procedure…*_

_The only response X5-452 could come up with was a favorite of the Colonel.  "Screw procedure," she whispered as she left the barracks._

_Something in the back of X5-452's mind was screaming at her.  _**Obedience, Procedure**, _both of which she was ignoring.  _**Punishment, Solitary, Reprogramming**._  X5-452 tried to  ignore those as well, and  kept herself focused on the mission._

_She eased her way down the hall, flattening her body against the wall, as she had been trained.  She kept her hearing focused, listening for any of the guards who were on night watch.  She was surprised when her hearing didn't pick up the thick thumps of the guards' heavy boots, but instead a high, keening sound.  She made her way towards the noise._

_One hallway, then another.  She didn't need schematics to guide her, since this wasn't an enemy base she was infiltrating.  This was her own.  She pushed down the guilt of the betrayal, her every instinct telling her that she was disobeying orders and would be reprimanded.  She continued._

_She scouted carefully around the final corner, and saw a thin stream of light that shone into the hallway.  The high pitched whine had stopped.  As she drew closer, she could pick up words._

_"No elevated chemical levels in the musculature… within tolerance."  _

_"This is unexpected, since the muscle spasms would at least indicate something causing them to misfire."_

_X5-452 blinked.  Experimentation?  Now?  Although it was true that some of the doctors' tests were run at night, they were still run on the X5s as a unit.  She crept towards the door.  It was open just enough…_

_Buffy wanted to yell at the girl, scream at her to run.  But she couldn't.  She watched._

_X5-452 knew that she should be afraid, but, like the Colonel had told them before, fear was not an option.  Not now.  She moved to look around the edge._

_X5-417 was dead._

_She made no movement, couldn't even blink as she watched them take their saws and slice into him.  The doctors showed no emotion as their hands dripped with his blood, not even hesitating as they made the first cut through his skull…_

_And Lydecker stood there, sipping his coffee as though he were at a staff meeting, instead of an autopsy.  As X5-452 moved away from the door, to return back down the hall, she heard his strong voice echo through the hall, "He was a good soldier.  It was a shame to put him down."_

_*Jack…*_

_"We were wrong," she whispered to her brothers and sisters in the dark.  She had woken  them up as soon as she had returned.  She was desperately trying not to panic, knowing that panic could be the cause of failure.  "The ones with the shakes, they aren't taken to the nomalies.  They're terminated!"_

_"Are you sure?" X5-599 asked, always the CO._

_"I saw.  They were dissecting  him."  Her young mind drew the events together and proceeded with the logic.  "They'll terminate me, and then dissect me."_

_Every eye in the room drew towards her.  "Are you sure?" X5-656 asked._

_X5-452 held up the trembling hand.  There were gasps at the sight._

_"We need a contingency plan," X5-766 said._

_There were nods of agreement.  And all of group X5 stayed up that night as they made their first plans…_

_…_

_X5-452 shook off the memory again.  *Focus on the briefing,* she scolded herself.  *It'll do you no good to be caught with your gun aimed at the ground.*_

_As X5-452 turned her attention back to X5-599, Buffy noticed something odd.  The light being cast through the windows by the guard tower spotlights seemed to be brightening.  _

_A shiver passed through her body._

_*What was that?* Buffy thought._

_Another shiver.  Then another…_

_"Max!" X5-210 shrieked as X5-452 collapsed._

_The room was jittering around her wildly.  Buffy could barely hear anything around her as all of X5-452's senses went wild.  All she could feel was the sheer terror that ran though the child – Max.  _

_Unfortunately, the unit had little time to react other than to cluster around X5-452, who was laying on the ground, seizing violently.  The doors to the barracks flew open, and the tac sergeant bolted through, followed by several medics._

_Then it all happened so fast…_

_They were reaching down for her.  X5-599 struck, and the medic went down.  The sergeant advanced on them, and X5-766 grabbed him, kicking him in the back of the leg.   X5-766 quickly grabbed his weapon, which had foolishly been left holstered, and shot at the ceiling.  She then pointed the weapon at the guards, who quickly retreated out the doors.  _

_X5-599 shouted, "Begin X5E!  Total silence until the mission objective is achieved."  He reached down with X5-210 and gently helped pull her up to a standing position.  "Even you, Maxie," X5-599 whispered in her ear.  _

_"Come on, baby sister.  Time to go," X5-656 added softly._

_The group left the barracks in a cluster, X5-766 in the lead.  *Being a unit makes us strong, harder to fight,* X5-452's training told her._

_*But does it always?* Buffy's mind whispered in response._

_One corridor, then another.  They were all on high alert, as all of them desperately tried to ignore the guilt of desertion.  They burst through a set of doors, and were confronted by a group of soldiers.  The light shone brightly into their eyes as X5-766 raised her pistol._

_*Oh, God,* Buffy thought.  She wanted desperately to wake up –  anytime now – but she kept watching…_

_…and a shot rang out through the air.  As X5-766 hit the ground, the gun went skittering across the floor.  _

_X5-452 wanted to scream.  *Eva!* her mind shouted over and over.  But the order for silence had been given._

_*Screw silence!* Buffy tried to shout at the girl.  She wanted her to react… cry, scream, shout, laugh… anything._

_X5-452 looked at the gun, and saw a pool of blood running towards it.  She  looked at the hole in X5-766's forehead…_

_Buffy shuddered, wanting to throw up._

_X5-452 slowly looked up.  Out of the light came the Colonel himself, his face cold as he lowered his weapon.  The only emotion he showed was indignation that the child soldiers would even attempt…_

_Escape!_

_They ran!  Quicker than the normal eyes could see, they darted out into the hallway.  The alarms began wailing around them, echoing through the halls.  They pressed themselves flat against the wall, checking to make sure the next corridor was clear.  As they began to move out, X5-452 noticed that X5-798 wasn't following.  X5-452 turned and gave the girl a look, motioning to her to follow.  *Jace, stop being such a civvie!* she thought.  But X5-798 shook her head, and backed around the corner._

_There was no time to mourn a second lost sister.  The rest of the unit was ahead of her, and she needed to catch up.  Her shakes had gone, but she was queasy, and slightly unsteady on her feet.  Which was why she felt uneasy looking at the massive windows ahead of them._

_They slowed for a split second, staring at the choice in front of them.  As a unit, they made their decision.  They ran straight at the window…_

_Glass shattered around them, the bits raining around them like falling stars.  They tucked as they fell, rolling as they hit the snow which cushioned their impact.  X5-210 helped X5-452 to a standing position, and then they all separated, running for their lives._

_The sound of feet pounding through the snow echoed all around as the soldiers ran.  _

_X5-452 dodged the lights of the helicopters, as they tried to illuminate the landscape so the guards on snowmobiles could track the escapees.  She ducked between the trees and came to the top of a hill.  Looking around, she saw her unit popping up from behind the logs and brush in the area.  She dodged behind one large log herself and waited.  _

_After a few seconds, X5-210 came over the hill.  X5-452 smiled in relief, and grabbed her hand as X5-210 joined her._

_X5-599 decided that everyone who had made it was there.  Any of the others…  He jumped out from his hiding place and faced the X5's – the CO giving his team their final orders.  *Time's up,* he signed.  *Move out in pairs.*  He pointed at several pairs, and then leaped back behind the log, dividing the rest._

_*You can't split up!* Buffy thought._

_*We can't split up!* X5-452 thought as X5-599 motioned for her and X5-210 to leave together.  X5-210 nodded, but X5-452 shook her head._

_X5-599 frowned angrily and motioned again for them to leave.  Reluctantly, they left._

_Again, they ran._

_The sound of feet was soon joined by the sound of gunfire.  X5-452 knew that the guards weren't using the machine guns as a deterrent.  _

_As a chilling affirmative, her enhanced hearing picked up the faint sound of a radio crackling and  the Colonel's voice carrying on the wind, "This is Lydecker. I want you to capture if you can, but if any of them make it to the perimeter, you are to terminate. Is that understood?"_

_There was disbelief in the voice of the respondent.  "Confirming, sir.  You're giving an order ten-zero-six?"_

_There was little hesitation as the Colonel replied, "It's my responsibility.  Shoot them."_

_It wasn't long before X5-452 and X5-210 reached the perimeter.  As they approached, X5-452's heart began to beat wildly with fear.  *I want to go back,* she thought frantically.  *I can go back.  I'll be a good soldier this time, follow their orders.  Then maybe they won't…*_

_*Kill you?* Buffy thought, almost unable to believe that X5-452 was even debating returning._

_The fence loomed in their view, growing larger and larger with each step.  The closer they got, the louder X5-452 cried in her mind.  *What are we doing?!  There's nothing out there!  This is home.  Without Manticore, we are nothing!  Nothing!  NOTHING!!*_

_They hit the fence._

_Although they could jump high, they knew it would not be enough to clear the barbed wire at the top.  So they began to climb.  X5-452 heard the sounds of a scuffle behind her, and hoped that one of their own was not hurt.  The girls reached the top, quickly climbed over, and dropped to the snow below. _

_They were on the wrong side of the fence now._

_Jondy and Max were running as soon as they landed.  But Max stopped and turned as she heard the sound of taser darts hitting their mark.  She turned and saw X5-599 lying in the snow, twitching as the currents of electricity ran through his body, with guards gathering around him.  Their leader had been captured._

_Max felt slim fingers touch her own, and she began running again, following Jondy.  As they sprinted through the snow, she noticed a thin cracking sound.  Glancing down, she saw that they were running across the icy surface of the lake that lay beyond the boundaries of Manticore.  Max opened her mouth to warn Jondy, when the ice gave way beneath her feet._

_The cold of the water was a sharp stab even to the skin of an X5 as she fell into its depths.  An assault of pain shot through her thin body as she struggled not to let any of the water into her lungs.  She couldn't help but claw at the water, trying to find some purchase anywhere.  She was able to reach near the surface, but found that she must have drifted from where she fell, because the surface was completely covered over.  She plunged downward again, this time in a controlled move, and swam towards the hole that she had fallen through._

_"Max!" Jondy called… and then looked up, fear in her eyes._

_Max could hear them, too.  Could feel the rumble of the humvees through the water.  Could see the shine of the lights from the helicopters.  She dared not break the surface now.  Instead she pleaded with her heart.  *Run, Jondy!  Leave me!  Just… go!  Let me go!  Let go!*_

_Jondy stood and ran._

_Max's heart broke.  Her last connection to her unit was gone.  Hot tears welled up in her eyes, only to mix with the frigid water.  _

_X5-452 had never cried before._

_Max was sobbing under the ice.  _

_She struggled to regain her control as she heard the vehicles skid to a stop on the ice.  Doors slammed, and the voice of a guard said, "Sir, we've got seven so far – three wounded, two killed."_

_The tears came harder, faster.  Two killed.  But so many more before them._

_Lydecker's voice rang out strongly, "You've got a big problem if just **one** makes it to the outside."_

_If not for the cold and the grief, Max would have laughed.  *Look down, Colonel.*_

_"Well, realistically, sir, it's ten degrees out here.  How far can these kids get?"_

_*As far as it takes.*_

_"Just find them," Lydecker snapped. _

_The engines roared away, but Max stayed underneath the ice.  She knew that she could stay under for over four minutes, but had never tested exactly how long before.  She counted the time in her head._

_Time was all she had now._

_Buffy blinked, startled as she realized that she was no longer within the child, but was looking at her from a position next to her.  Max's dark eyes stared at her solemnly.  _

_Eyes that were too old to belong to a child. _

_Buffy could sense somehow that Max had made a decision.  Max reached towards the ice, touching something on the underside.  She looked at Buffy and smiled, pointing.  Buffy looked up, and saw her own familiar reflection.  _

_Buffy turned back to the girl.  She watched as Max closed her eyes, and inhaled the icy water…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy shot up in bed, gasping for air.  The dream that had seemed so real… _was_ real.  She clutched the blankets around her, shivering violently with a long-remembered chill of a winter that was yet to be.  She slowly shifted out of bed, and placed her bare feet on the floor, relieved to feel the carpet beneath them.  She stood, her muscles stretching slightly as they shifted out of their position.

_Her muscles pumped and burned as she ran through the snow_

Buffy swallowed at the memory, and shook her head to clear it.  She tiptoed towards the bathroom, doing her best to be quiet.  She was sure no one in the house would appreciate being woken up this late.  It had been too long a day.

Buffy turned on the shower full blast, and turned the temperature up as hot as she could stand.  Almost immediately, steam began to roll through the room.  She stripped off her clothes, stepped into the shower, and let the boiling hot water beat down on her skin.  

_The crack of ice… a splash of water_

Even through the heat, she couldn't shake the feeling of the icy cold water that Max had plunged into – and stayed immersed in for who knows how long.  Buffy remained in the shower for five minutes, ten, twenty, before finally giving up and turning off the water.  She stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and began drying off.  She pulled her sweats on and walked over to the sink.  She smiled as she saw the steam covered mirror.  She grabbed her towel off the floor and wiped a path across the glass.  She dropped the towel and looked up.

Dark eyes looked back at her.

Buffy gasped and leapt backwards, rubbing her eyes with her hands.  She cautiously moved her hands, and saw her own familiar hazel-green eyes.  She swallowed, trying to control her racing heart.  But as she struggled to regain her breath, her mind couldn't help but superimpose her face with that of the young girl with the close cropped hair and the ancient eyes.

Buffy couldn't take it anymore.  She threw open the bathroom door and raced down the stairs, ignoring Logan's call after her as she dashed by the living room and out the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


_February 19, 2001___

A kick.  A punch.  Another punch.  A block.  A swift turn.  All beautifully, precisely executed.  But with too much passion, too much energy. 

 But Buffy couldn't stop.  She threw everything she could into the hits she swung at the sparring dummy.  Dull thuds resounded through the training room at each blow.  And none of it was enough.

The faces, the sounds, the smells – all of it was frozen into her mind.  _You don't understand things yet_, Max had said.

Now Buffy understood too much.

Seeing that man's –  Lydecker's – face in the place of the dummy's, Buffy started punching rapidly, one blow after another, trying to erase it from her memory.

The sharp _snap _of skin impacting on skin broke through her manic concentration.  

Buffy stopped and blinked, her vision clearing as she focused on the pale hand with chipped black fingernail polish wrapped around her outstretched fist.  She sighed and, all at once, the energy drained out of her.  She slowly pulled her arm back.  "Spike."   She spat out his name like it left a bad taste in her mouth.  "What do you want now?"

The vampire raised a hand to heart, looking wounded.  "Why, Slayer!  You don't sound like you're happy to see me."

Buffy's brows knitted together.  "Probably because I'm not."  She walked over to the pommel horse and picked up a towel she had placed there.  She wiped her forehead with it and glanced at Spike over her shoulder.  "You're still here?" 

He gave her a self-satisfied look that said 'You're-not-getting-rid-of-me-till-I'm-ready-to-leave.' Then he responded to her question with another question.  "What'd it do?" he asked, indicating the dummy.

She turned to completely face him, confused by the random topic change.  "Huh?"

Spike huffed in frustration.  "How come you're in here entertaining yourself with a punching bag grudge match 'stead of being out there wailing on the real things?"

Buffy sighed.  She was tired.  Too tired.  But she'd be damned if she'd let him know that.  She shrugged.  "Couldn't sleep," she said honestly.  "Thought I'd come out here and try to work off some of my energy."

"Well, if you ever get tired of fighting off an inanimate object, the two of us could always go a round or two."

Buffy scoffed at that.  "Yeah that'd be a _hoot_ for about the first three seconds until the first punch you tried to throw at me."  She eyed him speculatively.  "Then again… watching you go from Big Badass vampire to big ball of whining agony in 3.4 seconds flat _might _be fun."

Spike rolled his eyes at that.  "Well, it wouldn't have had to go that way if I weren't actually trying to hurt you."

"Like _that_ would ever happen," Buffy sneered.

Spike shoved his hands in the pockets of his duster, tracing the outline of a name in the nonexistent dust with one toe.  "I'd never hurt you," he mumbled low in his throat.

Buffy stared at him, and he met her startled hazel gaze with his own frank blue one.  She was the first to look away, as a sharp, mocking laugh escaped her lips.  "No kidding.  See above re: big ball, whining agony."

He laughed as she went to take a seat on a pile of mats sitting against a wall.  _This_ was the type of energy he loved to see out of her, rather than the lethargic burn he'd seen when he came in.  But as he watched her for a few seconds, he could almost see the lethargy come back.  

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him.  "So what are you doing out this late?"

"Are you daft?  It's just after midnight."

"I meant, what are you doing _here._"

Spike lifted a slim shoulder in a half shrug and swept aside the tails of his long black leather coat as he took a seat next to her.  He was pleased to note that she didn't slide away from him – or shove him over the side of the mats.  "Well, I was out and about doing my usual mischief and mayhem  – minus murder – and saw a light on.  Thought I'd stop in and see what the newest Big Bad was all about."

Buffy looked at her hands.  "No new Big Bad."

"Old Big Bad?"

"Not an old Big Bad either."

"Little Bad?"

"Would you stop that!" Buffy snapped at him, irritated.

He leaned back on his elbows, extending his long legs and crossing them at the ankles.  "Well, help me some, then.  You're not often haunting this place solo.  What's up?"

"Nothing," she replied, looking away.

Spike sighed softly.  "You know, luv, you're not a particularly good liar."

She glared at him before standing up and starting to pace.  "I was perfectly happy here before you dropped by, you know?  Why don't you go find someone else to bother?"

"I prefer to bother you."  He leaned back and crossed his arms, grinning smugly.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  "The last few days, not so much.  As a matter of fact, lately you've been rather conspicuously absent.  Mind telling me what I've been doing _right_?"

Spike snorted a laugh.  "You wish.  It's the company you keep of late.  Makes me… jumpy."

"Oh."

"Though if you _really _want me to bother someone else, I guess I could make the sacrifice and go bother your houseguests," he suggested, hazarding a guess at the source of her distress.

Buffy stiffened and stopped her pacing.

_Bingo,_ he thought.

"You leave them alone," she snapped swiftly.  "They've got their own problems right now."  Buffy resisted the urge to start pacing again.  The nervous energy was coming back, and she felt like she was going to scream or cry or… or… whatever.  _Something_ was going to happen.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  Spike asked quietly.

"_NO,_" was her emphatic reply.  Too emphatic._  Crap_.  Buffy walked back over and resumed her seat, even though Spike hadn't moved.  She could handle sitting next to him for the five seconds it would take to get rid of him.  "Max is… sick."

"Oh?"  Not what he'd expected, with Buffy's reactions.  "Someone done something for her?  Get her to a doctor, or hospital, or the like?"

"It's not quite that simple.  She and Logan are too damned paranoid to do anything about it.  So they're both sticking their heads in the sand, hoping they can either find the miracle cure or wait until it passes."

"It?"

"Seizures."

Spike gave a low whistle.  "Nasty, those.  Bite someone wrong, suck 'em too slow, that sometimes happens.  So what's this miracle cure?"

Buffy racked her brain for a moment before coming up with the right word.  "Tryptophan.  I guess it's something that helps.  For whatever reason, Max doesn't have any with her.  She's trying to stop them with milk, but it really doesn't seem to be helping much."

"Why the paranoia, then?"

Buffy was silent for a long moment before responding.  "Both Max and Logan have said it's too dangerous.  There's too much of a chance for… that place to catch wind."

"What?  Manticore?  Yeah, can't be too careful with those secret government types."  Then he paused, because he'd seen her shudder at his mention of Manticore.  Perhaps this time, she was lying to herself.  "It's not people that's got you all bothered then, is it?  It's that place."

Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her upper arms as if to ward off a chill.  "It's that place," she agreed.  "It's the people in that place.  What she was like… what they made her do… what they were doing to her…"

"Max tell you all of this?  She doesn't seem the type to share all."

"She didn't tell me."

Spike blinked.  "Then how do you know so much?"

She looked up at him, and he saw the dark shadows under her eyes.  "Honestly?  Not sure.  I've been picking up her dreams or memories or something.  Might be some effect of… I've been dreaming it.  I've been seeing it every night in my dreams for weeks.  And tonight…" Buffy sat silent.  _Ancient eyes_.  "Tonight I saw it all."  She stood again, the chill reinvading her soul.  She walked towards the window in the room, and looked at the night sky.

"Slayer?"  Spike asked, concerned.  She looked… haunted.  "Buffy?"

"She was just a child," she whispered.  "But her thoughts… feelings… they were so… old.  Wounded.  Manticore tried so hard to breed all the humanity out of them.  They'd train it out of them.  Then they'd beat it out of them.  If that didn't work, they'd kill them.  Any imperfection, any flaw… they'd be terminated.  And they were expected to take it and move on, and just forget.  But she can't forget.  There's too much there.  And…"  Buffy stopped.  "And she was just a child."

Spike stood and slowly walked over to her.  He leaned against the wall next to the window and told her softly, "We were all children once."

Buffy looked at him in wonder.  It took her a moment to recompose herself before responding, "Yes… we all were, weren't we?  Once."

"Once."  He gave a short, sardonic laugh.  "So very long ago."

"A century… five years ago… eight years from now.  All so long ago.  And how quickly we forget."

"Or pretend to, at least."  They stood there regarding each other, momentarily content to be at peace with each other.  Finally Spike asked, "What're you going to do, then?"

Buffy turned from the window and walked towards the door, barely even noticing that her nervous energy had all but disappeared.  "What I should have done a long time ago – talk to her."

He watched her walk away, but stopped her with a word.  "Ah, Buffy…"  

Buffy half turned to look at him.

"How 'bout I help you with another part of your problem?  Ask around a bit for that Tryptophan?"  He glanced subconsciously at the ground.

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times at the unexpected offer.  "Thanks.  That'd be a big help."

Spike raised an eyebrow and grinned cockily.  "Always willing to lend a helping hand.  Or two.  As long as I get to choose where to put them."

Buffy groaned as she walked out the door.  "In your dreams."

"Always, Slayer," he murmured after her retreating form.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Max was sitting on the counter in the dark, sipping a glass of milk, when Buffy walked through the kitchen door.  "Hey," Max greeted her.

"Hey," Buffy replied.  "I didn't expect to see you up and about."  She dangled the gallon of milk she had bought from one finger.  "Got you something while I was out."

Max laughed softly.  "Thanks.  Jewelry it ain't, but just as welcome."  She regarded Buffy thoughtfully.  "You okay?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow in surprise.  "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Then ask."

There was a long, awkward pause.  Max continued to serenely sip her milk as she waited for Buffy, who was looking everywhere in the kitchen except at her.

"You okay?"

Max shrugged.  "Been better, but not too bad.  Milk's been helping some."

"Well, that's good."  Their eyes met briefly, and then they looked away from each other.  The silence hung thick in the air.  Finally, Buffy let out a frustrated sigh.  "You still feel it, don't you?"

Max looked up from her milk.  "Feel what?"

_Remember, Buffy… don't stop now_…  "The water… the cold of it."

The dark-haired woman slowly set down her glass as she realized what Buffy was saying.

Buffy stepped closer, trying to get Max to make eye contact.  "It seeps into your bones.  You can't get rid of it, can you?"

"No," she whispered.

"So you take long, boiling hot showers to try to chase away the chill, but—"

"It stays.  It never goes away."  Max looked at Buffy, slightly concerned at her knowledge, but also knowing.  "You finally figured out what they were?  Your dreams?"

Buffy sighed.  "You heard that, too.  I'm not sure I've got them figured out.  I'm not sure I can.  Because they're yours."

Max nodded.

"And I'm just… a watcher.  Hell, since you've gotten here, all I've done is watched.  But I needed to be taught how to watch, what to watch for."

"And what did you see?" Max asked.

Buffy thought a minute.  "I saw that all of the X5's didn't even come up to Lydecker's shoulder – and he's not that tall.  I saw that Eva's fingers were so small that she could have stuck one down the barrel of the gun she held.  I saw that you were petite and light enough that you made it a good way across the thin ice on that lake—"

"Before I fell."

"—before it cracked."  Buffy moved over to Max and pulled the empty glass easily from her grasp.  She turned to the counter and opened up the milk she had brought, refilling the glass.  Before she turned around, she asked, "How long?  Were you under the water, I mean."

"Almost ten minutes.  I'd never held my breath that long before.  I would have held it longer, but—"

Buffy turned.  "You couldn't hold it any more.  You tried to take a breath—"

"And damned near drowned myself, I swallowed so much water."  Max laughed, a hard-edged, steely laugh, sharp enough to draw blood from the very air.  "It was _so_ stupid!  I'd never messed up like that before.  I could have killed myself."

"But you didn't.  You survived."

"I survived," Max agreed.  "_She_ didn't, though.  X5-452 died under the ice that night."  She looked at Buffy, and could see her own shadowed form reflected in the Slayer's eyes.  "She haunts me sometimes, you know?  X5-452.  I do sleep every once in a while.  But those mornings when I wake up, she's sitting on my chest, begging me to let her go back.  Because her world is all she knows, and it's so different from mine.  And mine—"

"Frightens her,"  Buffy finished.  She walked over to Max, and wrapped the other woman's shaking fingers around the glass.

"Thanks," Max said gratefully, as she lifted it to take a long drink.  Max's dark eyes seemed to look in Buffy's soul for a moment before she asked, "Who is Dawn?"

"What?" Buffy asked in shock.

Max chuckled.  "Not what.  Who.  There's a big difference."

"I know there's a difference," Buffy replied warily.  "Why do you ask?"

"Because most people don't light up like they're some kind of pure green star in the sky.  Logan thinks I'm hallucinating, but I know I'm not.  I've never seen anything like her before."

Buffy sighed.  She'd been waiting for that very question, but hoping she could put it off for a while longer.  "Dawn is… human.  At least she is now.  She used to be energy – a Key.  She was in danger, so some monks made her into a girl and sent her to me for protection.  They even changed our memories to include her, so she could have a world that she fits in.  Nobody knew… until recently."  Buffy's face grew wistful.  "We can't see what she _really_ looks like.  Only those who are supposedly 'outside reality' can."

"And I'm currently running with that brain-fucked crowd.  So what do I need to watch out for?" Max asked.

Buffy's relief was so great that she almost cried.  Max had only known them for a little over a week, during which time she'd been transported across time, lied to, avoided, and generally distrusted.  Yet she didn't even blink at the thought of helping to protect one of them.  _Although, it **is** Dawn._  _If it was Anya, on the other hand…_  "Thank you," Buffy said quietly.  She took a deep breath.  "What you need to watch out for is a pissed off, ditzy blonde with great fashion sense."

Max almost choked on the remainder of her milk.  "You must be smoking something strong, girl!"

"I wish I were.  Unfortunately we're not even sure what's up—"  Buffy cut herself off as she saw a shiver run through Max's thin frame.  She had a feeling that this time it wasn't from a chill.  "Speaking of up, but what are you still doing here?  I know you need the milk, but being vertical can't be doing your body good."

Max rolled her eyes and laughed.  "What I'm doing is waiting for Willow.  She's bringing medicine."

Buffy's grin lit up her face.  "That's great!  When's she coming over?"

They both turned as they heard the front door open and shut.  "Right now," Max said, sliding off the counter, catching herself as her knees almost buckled.

They moved to the living room, where Willow was entering with a brown paper sack.  She glanced at Max with a mixture of discomfort and concern.  She tried to ignore Max's shivering appearance as she held out the bag.  "Here.  I… uh… think this might help."

Max grabbed the bag, relieved.  She reached in, pulled out the bottle… and stopped.  The pills rattled from the shaking of her hand, as Max looked up and said, "This isn't right.  What I need is—"

"I know it's not right," Willow interrupted.  She could feel her face begin to flush as she rushed to explain.  "Tryptophan was taken off the market in 1990 by the  FDA.  Now it's only available by prescription – and rarely, at that, since there's other, safer drugs on the market that do the same thing: Prozac, Zoloft, Se—"

"Spare me the pharmacology lecture, please."  Max mentally cringed at the irritation in her voice.  She really didn't mean to come off so harsh, but… this was important.  "You can't get it."

Willow sighed.  "I can't get it.  Unless you want to try a doctor or hospital."

"No."  Max's tone was forceful.  She looked down at the bottle again.  "At least this has tryptophan in the name," she offered, trying to give the redhead a few points.

Willow nodded.  "5-HTP is actually the intermediary between tryptophan and serotonin, so it _should_ do the same thing.  Maybe even quicker.  And the added bonus is that this is over the counter."

Max quickly opened the bottle and shook out a small handful.  She looked at them doubtfully for a few seconds before mumbling, "Worth a shot," and shoving them in her mouth, swallowing quickly.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Buffy stretched as she walked out of her bedroom.  She'd actually gotten six full, dreamless hours of sleep.  As she stepped out into the hall, she noticed her mother emerging from her own bedroom at the other end of the hall.  She smiled and walked over.  "Mornin', Mom.  You're up late."

Joyce returned the smile and kissed the top of her daughter's head.  "I know.  I was so exhausted that I slept the sleep of the dead last night."

"Mom, please don't joke about things like that."

Joyce laughed, but the laugh died quickly.  "How is Max doing?"

Buffy's own smile broadened as she told her, "Well, Willow brought some stuff over last night.  Max popped a couple pills and within a few minutes, the seizures stopped."

"That's wonderful!" Joyce exclaimed.  They started down the stairs.  "Why didn't you wake me up to let me know?"

"Remember that coma you were in?"  Buffy rolled her eyes. "Besides, she's… fine…"  They walked into the kitchen and saw Logan sitting in the corner by the bathroom door, looking very tired… and very worried.

He knocked softly on the door.  "Max?  You okay?"

Buffy frowned in concern.  "What's going on?"

Logan rubbed his eyes and looked up, noticing the two who had walked in.  He sighed.  "Max's… having a few problems."

"What do you mean?"  Buffy asked.  "Max gets pills, Max takes pills, Max gets better…"

"Max has side effects, Max throws up pills, Max gets worse," Logan snapped.  "There's no miracle cure for this, Buffy.  We all should have known that it wouldn't be as simple as substituting one thing for another."  

He looked at the two stricken women and exhaled.  "I'm sorry.  We've been up all night.  She _was_ fine for a while, but then she started feeling strange.  About an hour after you went to bed, she started vomiting.  It hasn't stopped."

"The seizures…" Joyce began.

"Actually stayed away for a couple hours," Logan informed her.  "The 5-HTP did that much, at least.  But since she's started getting sick, she hasn't even been able to hold down much milk.  The seizures have come back, and she—"  He broke off abruptly as he heard footsteps on the stairs.  He gave three sharp raps on the bathroom door, and quickly pushed himself a small distance away.

Buffy and Joyce looked at him in confusion, as they heard the shower turn on.  A few seconds later, Dawn walked into the room.

"Morning!" she chirped at them as she entered.  Seeing Logan, she asked, "Where's Max?"

Logan forced a smile and cocked a thumb towards the bathroom.  

Dawn grinned as she heard the shower running.  "Maybe I can wait until she gets out… I want to see how she's doing."

"And how long do you plan on waiting?  The water just went on," Buffy said quickly, jumping to assist the Logan's defense..

"She did say to tell you 'hey,'" Logan offered.

Dawn laughed.  "Well, tell her 'hey' for me, too."

"Do you have lunch money?" Joyce asked.

Dawn nodded.  "Yup."  She grabbed an apple out of the refrigerator, and left.

The two women quickly turned back to Logan, who was already moving back to the bathroom door.  "Do you mind telling us what that was about?" Buffy asked.

Logan ignored them and knocked loudly on the door.  "Max?" he called, trying to be heard over the shower.  The shower quickly shut off.  "She's gone.  You can come out now."

"Do I have to?" was the weak response through the door.  The door slowly creaked open, and two trembling hands grasped the doorframe.

"My God!" Joyce breathed as she rushed over to Max. 

Max's dark eyes were huge against the pallor of her face.  She swayed where she stood, trembling.

Joyce wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and placed a hand gently on Max's forehead.  "You're burning up!" she gasped, as Max leaned into the cool touch.

Max wanted badly to disappear into the woodwork, but didn't have the strength or energy to attempt her usual vanishing act.  So instead, she rested her head on Joyce's shoulder.  "I'm cold," she whispered.  She glanced at Buffy briefly, before closing her eyes.

Joyce led Max towards the living room, supporting much of the girl's weight as they slowly walked.  "You lie down on the couch, and I'll go get you a few blankets."

Logan watched them disappear through the doorway, then turned to Buffy.  "The search is back on," he told her, then left the same way the other two had.

Buffy looked after them for just a moment before she walked over to the phone, and quickly dialed a familiar number.  

"Xander?  Scooby meeting _right now_.  I don't care _what_ you've got to do, just get yourself over to the Magic Box.  Pick up Willow and Tara on your way.  Is Anya already there?  Good.  I'll call Giles."  She hung up the phone without saying goodbye.  

After contacting Giles, she walked through the living room and called to everyone on her way out, "Off to try to find something at the Magic Box.  I'll be back later!"

Everyone was already at the Magic Box by the time Buffy arrived.  "Crunch time, guys.  Time to seriously make with the research," was her greeting.

Giles frowned at her, puzzled.  Normally he was the one to insist upon researching.  "What's happened?"

Buffy glanced at Willow, almost hating to break the news.  "The stuff you brought last night didn't work, Willow."

Willow's face fell.  "It didn't?  But I thought—"

"It did help for a little while, but it made Max sick.  And now she's worse."

"So… you want to see if we can find a cure?" Tara asked as she placed a comforting hand over Willow's.

"No," Buffy replied, shaking her head.  "We're going to get them home."

The shop was quiet as everyone digested that for a moment.  "Well, Buffy… if she's really getting that much worse, shouldn't our priority be to make her, well, not worse?" Willow asked.  "There'll be plenty of time to get her back to her time, uh, after.  She's better, I mean."

"Tryptophan is the only thing that can help her.  And the only place we know she can get it is Seattle in the year 2020.  For whatever reason, it's easier to get there than here.  So now we just have to get Max… there."

"I've been thinking about that problem for a while now," Anya spoke up from behind some shelves.  "And I – oof! – think I may have a couple books to at least start looking in."  Anya walked out from behind the shelves with a stack of perhaps fifteen very large, very dusty books obscuring her vision.

Xander jumped up to help her.  He grabbed the top half of the stack, trying not to sneeze as the dust tickled his nose.  "Ahn, we appreciate the help and all, but… if you're, uh, not that fond of Max—"

"Not 'not fond,'" Anya corrected him.  "_Can't stand_."

"Okay, _can't stand_.  So why are you so gung-ho about helping her?"

"Because if I help her, she'll go away.  At least until the next time Willow screws up and poofs her back," Anya declared cheerfully.

"Hey!" Willow exclaimed.  "In the same room!  Have good hearing!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever… take a book, quick."

Willow and Tara each took a book.  Tara immediately dug into hers, but Willow instead clutched hers close to her chest as she stood and walked over to Buffy, who had grabbed a volume of her own.  

"What if we can't get them back?"  Willow asked softly.

Buffy looked up.  "Huh?  What do you mean?"

Willow sighed.  "If we can't get them back, and we can't find Max some pills.  What happens then?"

Buffy realized what her friend was asking, but wasn't certain of the answer.  Or at least, didn't want give the one possible answer she knew.  "I'm sure we'll find a way—"  

"But what if we don't?!" Willow exclaimed.  "She's gonna get sicker and she's gonna die!  And what will that make _me_?"

Buffy grasped the redhead firmly by the shoulders and gave her a quick, stiff shake.  "Don't, Willow," she commanded.  "You can't take the blame for this.  We don't know what happened and we don't know what's going to happen.  We could go back to my house, and Max could be dancing naked in the front yard, singing show tunes and declaring her love for Anya."

Willow couldn't help the snort that bubbled out.  "Somehow, I'm thinking… not so much."  She turned her head to lean it against Tara's, as she came up behind her and gave her a reassuring embrace.

Buffy smiled and patted her friend's shoulder.  "What I'm saying is that this _isn't _your fault.  It's the fault of whoever woke up one morning and decided play God with the human genome… and then messed it up.  Max has weathered worse than this.  She'll be fine."

Willow smiled wanly and nodded.  "Yeah.  She'll be fine."  She opened her book and, linking arms with Tara, walked away.

Buffy turned back to her own book and her smile fell away.  _Yeah.  She'll be fine._

If only she could believe that.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


"Do you think she'll be able to help?  Great.  That's… that's wonderful, Giles, thank you.  How soon will you be here?  Okay, I'll be ready."  Logan hung up the phone.

"That sounded like good news," Joyce said from behind him.

Logan looked over his shoulder, startled, since he hadn't heard her enter the kitchen.  Then he turned and smiled.  "It's just a possibility.  But it's one more possibility than we had before.  Giles remembered a friend of his who lives a couple hours east of here.  She's licensed to practice homeopathy."

"And that's good?" Joyce asked.  

Logan nodded.  "It's very good."  He stopped and sighed.  "The only problem is that Giles says she's somewhat of a 'free spirit'  …I think that translates to 'strange hippie.'  She doesn't have a phone, so we'll just need to drive out there and hope she's in."  

He wheeled over to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, and looked at Max.  She was huddled under some blankets, her eyes closed, body jerking every few seconds.  "Stupid," he whispered.

Joyce walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.  "She'll be fine, Logan."

He closed his tired eyes and rubbed them with his fingers.  "She's not fine, Joyce.  She could die and it'll be my fault."

Joyce sighed.  These two were all too willing to take the blame for each other.  "Logan, it's not your—"

"It _is_!" he snapped.  "I should have known.  She's been depressed and anxious lately…  I'd attributed it to some difficult things that have been happening back home, and to the fact that we're here and not in Seattle… but now I'm not so sure.  It might have been a sign that all the chemicals in her brain were starting to go haywire."

"Logan," Joyce repeated firmly.  "It's not your fault.  But if you're so worried, why don't you take her to a hospital?"

"Because we can't take the risk, and… and I promised her.  I told her I would know when to take her," he said.

"When?"

"When she can't say no," Logan replied.  They let that sit between them for a moment or two as they watched Max's restless form.  "Would you mind—" he began hesitantly, but stopped.

Joyce looked down at him.  "Of course I'll stay with her."

He gave a relieved smile.  "Thanks.  I'd told her once, a long time ago, I would stay with her.  I don't want her to be alone."  He looked over his shoulder as he heard the honk of a car's horn.  "Try to see if you can get her to sleep some.  I think it's been weeks since she's been able to rest.  I'll be back this afternoon, hopefully with good news."  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


_Her heart beat faster as she raced through the snow.  She could hear the bark of the dogs as they picked up her scent and closed in on her position.  A hand reached for her_—

Max's eyes snapped open and she immediately moved to grab the hand in the just the right spot to snap the bones.  Her lips pulled back in a snarl, and she prepared to give a shout… until something in her muddled mind pulled back to the present and she realized who she was looking at.  Mortified, Max let go of the wrist.  "Joyce!  I-I'm s-sorry," she stammered out between shakes.

Joyce smiled gently at the girl.  "It's fine.  Actually, I'm the one who should be sorry.  I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."  She held up a blanket.  "It was falling on the floor."

"Oh."   Max gave her a semi-blank look as Joyce gently laid the blanket over her.  Max raised herself on her elbows and told her, "You don't have to-to stay around, you know.  I'll be f-fine by my- by myself."

"I know you would be," Joyce agreed.  "But humor me."  She bent down and gently stroked Max's face.   

Max didn't really have the energy to protest anymore.  "Okay," she said listlessly.

Joyce gently touched Max's shoulders, lifting her a bit.  Max frowned and sat up further, allowing Joyce to sit down next to her.  Joyce looked at Max for a couple seconds, not saying anything.  Then she smiled when Max finally got the hint, and laid back down, resting her head in Joyce's lap.

"You're t-too nice to me," Max protested feebly, relaxing as Joyce continued to stroke her hair.

"No, I'm not," Joyce replied.  "I'm just doing what I always do for my girls when they're not feeling well."  As Max mulled that over in silence,  Joyce took the opportunity to find out a bit more about her young charge.  "What do you usually do when you're like this?"

Max's shrugged her thin shoulders through the shaking, and closed her eyes.  She was getting drowsy.  "I usually take a few of my pills and - and sit in the bathroom for a while, until it bl-blows over."

"Alone?"

"Yeah.  Alone," Max replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You don't have anyone?" Joyce asked sadly.

Max looked up at her, wondering why she drew that conclusion.  "I _have_ friends."

"I mean… have you never had someone who loves you, take care of you?"  Joyce was distressed at the thought.

"What li-little family I have is scattered and hasn't been much of a - of a family.  So I guess… no.  I haven't."  Max closed her eyes again.  "Nobody loves me," she whispered.

Joyce was silent, thinking about the young man who had stayed up with her all night.  His worry and fear was apparent to any who looked at him.  

She decided that Max needed a new definition of 'love.'

"Tell me a story," Max murmured.

Joyce looked at her, surprised at the request.  She thought a moment.  The first story that came to her mind was an old favorite.  She had memorized it after reading it to her daughters so many times when they were younger.

"'All children, except one, grow up,'" Joyce began.  "'They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end…'"

As she related the tale of a young boy who could fly, Joyce heard Max's breathing even out.  She paused in the telling, and looked down to find that Max was asleep, her small hands curled around the edge of the blanket like a child.  She looked very young, and Joyce wondered if it were for someone who had never been a child to grow up.  

"'You so do need a mother,'" she quoted softly, gently moving Max's long hair away from her face.  But Joyce's hand paused as in the process she uncovered something she didn't expect to see – a barcode on the back of Max's neck.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


A door opened, and then thumped shut.

"Did you find anything?"

A sigh.  "Yeah.  Giles' friend can get the tryptophan for us, but it's going to be about three days.  She has to order it from Canada."

"So now what?" a concerned voice asked.  Joyce.

"Now… we wait."  _Logan?_  Max barely recognized his voice for the strain and anxiety in it.  She began to struggle towards consciousness.

"Can she wait three days?  Look at her!"  Joyce's voice was urgent, intense.

"Have to.  No choice," Max murmured weakly as she opened her eyes.  She saw both Logan and Joyce looking at her, almost surprised that she was awake.  Or alive, even.  "How l-long was I out?" she asked, trying to sit up.  She was mildly irritated as her muscles didn't seem to be responding well, and she fell back down.

Joyce rushed over to help her, and replied, "About four hours."

Max squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blink the sleep out of them.  It didn't help much – her vision was still blurry.  "Pro-probably why I feel like shit.  Slept too - too much."  She could see well enough to see  Logan wasn't smiling.  "Please.  It'll be - it'll be okay.  Just wait."

He wheeled close to her and smoothed her hair away from her sweaty forehead.  If anything, she felt warmer.  "How long, Max?"  He stared into her feverish eyes, and could tell she was in a lot of pain, but hiding it.  He would wait… but only for her.

But as they all continued to wait, it was obvious that she was deteriorating quickly.  It was difficult to watch such a strong woman weaken hour by hour.  Dawn stayed by her side right from the moment she got home from school.  She was quite irritated that Max's condition was kept from her, but pushed that aside.  Dawn tried to keep up a cheerful conversation, but it was hard, seeing Max the way she was.  It was getting difficult for Max to respond through the massive spasms that wracked her small frame.  Plus, Max often seemed to confuse Dawn for someone named Jondy…

Max had finally drifted off to sleep again when Dawn turned and saw Buffy watching the two of them.  Dawn looked at her friend, before standing and walking over to her sister.  "If she doesn't get help soon, she's going to die, isn't she," Dawn stated.

Buffy didn't want to respond to that.  "They're hoping she can wait—"

"_Isn't_ she?!" Dawn demanded.

Buffy sighed and finally told her sister the truth, "She's sick, Dawn.  And we don't have anything to help her."

Dawn blinked back the tears that were welling up in her eyes, and asked, "So why aren't you doing anything about it?"

Buffy widened her eyes, shocked at the accusation.  "Dawn, I've been doing everything I can.  I've been at the Magic Box all day, researching—"

"Books," Dawn spat.  "Great.  You'll read her well."

"Dawn—" Buffy warned, irritated that she seemed to be getting the blame.

Dawn just shook her head and snapped, "You're the Slayer.  You're supposed to fight the wrong stuff, save people.  Well, save _her_!"  The she turned and ran up the stairs.

Buffy sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair.  Unfortunately, Dawn's words had struck a familiar chord within her.  While it was true that the Slayer served to defend the innocent… in this moment, she wasn't the Slayer.  She was Buffy.  And Buffy was powerless.

She turned toward the kitchen as she heard the conversation within grow in intensity and tone.  Logan appeared, moving fast into the living room, closely followed by Joyce.  He leaned over Max and pulled the blanket closer around her shaking body before stroking her hair and saying loudly, "Max?"  There was no response, so he repeated a little louder, "Max!" and gave her a small shake.

Her eyes snapped open.  "Wh-what?" she whispered.

Logan looked apologetic as he told her, "We've got to go now, Max."

"Wh-where?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting in confusion.

He swallowed and said, "Joyce and I are taking you to the hospital, Max."

"No," she breathed.  "No!  I ca-can't.  You pro-promised!"

"I know I did, but… Max – you have to."  _Please don't give me that look_, he thought.  He almost broke down and took back his words, when faced with the pleading in her eyes.

"No.  Please," she begged.  "Please don't!  Don't make me!"

As Buffy saw the fear race across Max's pale face, Dawn's words came back to her.  _Save her_, her mind whispered.  Suddenly, an idea occurred to her, and she wondered why she hadn't thought…  "Wait!" she called to them.  "Hold on.  Just… a little longer, please.  I think I've got something."  She rushed over and grabbed Joyce by the arm   "Mom, I need a ride, get your keys."  Joyce quickly grabbed her keys, and the pair raced out the door.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Sunnydale Memorial was relatively quiet for a Monday night.  Ben had been having a rough time getting one of his patients to take her medication.  It had taken a lot of begging on his part and finally agreeing to add extra portion of lime jell-o to her breakfast tray, but she finally gulped down her pills.  _Some days, being an intern sucks._  

He slowly left the room, shutting the door behind him… and gasped as he bumped straight into Buffy.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed.  He eyed her carefully, noting that she looked tense.  "Is your mom okay?"

Buffy looked down the hall, and saw that no one was nearby.  "Uh… she's fine.  She's in the car, actually.  Look, do you have a minute to talk?" she hurried.

Ben blinked, confused, and then nodded.  "Of course."  He took her arm and moved her further away from the room.  "What's wrong?" he asked.

Buffy hesitated, knowing that her request could possibly get him in a hell of a lot of hot water.  "I need a favor…"

"Okay…"

She paused, and then launched into her urgent request, "If you want to say no, that's totally fine, I understand.  I mean, I realize that it's probably not exactly what you do and in the whole hospital arena may not even be exactly kosher, but I'm really not sure who else to ask, and when you came to mind, I'd thought you might be okay with it, since you do want to do that whole hypocritical oath and whatever, but then I thought that you might not since I'm really not sure what all goes into that oath and there's really no other way without—"

"Buffy," he said sharply.  "Breathe."

Buffy inhaled a shaky, nervous breath and nodded.  "Breathe.  Right.  Good idea, that."

He sighed.  "I said 'okay.'  What do you need help with?"

Buffy's next breath was one of intense relief.  "There's this friend of mine…"

"Real friend or hypothetical friend?" he asked.

"Real.  She's staying at my house and she's… sick.  Actually, she's kinda got one foot in the grave."

Ben narrowed his eyes at her, and could see the worry in her face.  "If she's that sick, why didn't you bring her with you?"

"Because… there's kind of, you know, some extenuating circumstances and she really… can't come to a hospital.  Do you think you could come to the house with me?  Take a look at her and see if you can help?"

Ben briefly debated what to do.  He was no doctor.  Or a nurse, even.  There were probably a dozen ethical principles he would be breaking, not to mention all the state and federal laws.  If he helped, he could be kissing his future medical career goodbye.  But if this friend was as sick as Buffy said…  

"What are her symptoms?" he said, turning and walking rapidly down the hall.  

Buffy smiled in relief and followed him.  "Actually, first I need to see if you can get your hands on tryptophan…"

A forged Doctor's Order and a stop by the pharmacy later, Ben grabbed a medical kit and followed Buffy outside.  He smiled at Joyce, who waved at him from the idling car.  They quickly climbed in, and Ben found himself thrown back in his seat as she gunned the engine and peeled out of the loading zone.  "You, uh, look like you're feeling well, Mrs. Summers," he gasped as she took a sharp turn.

Joyce smiled at him in the rearview mirror.  "Oh, yes, very well," she agreed.  "That's kind of you to ask."  She saw that the road ahead of her was clear, and pushed the gas pedal down further.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Ben's feet were rooted in the doorway as he stared in shock.  He could only blink as he watched the woman on the couch shake with a violent seizure.  

Buffy indicated Max with one hand and said, "Go ahead.  Do your thing."

Ben's eyes widened.  "Do my _thing?_  Jesus, I'm not even sure there's a thing a can do."He whispered to Buffy, "She should be taken to a hospital."

Buffy shook her head.  "It's too dangerous."

His eyes widened.  "And leaving her here, letting her get like this _isn't_?"

"That's why I brought _you_.  Help her," Buffy told him.

"How can I help her if I don't even know what's wrong with her?"

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "I told you what's wrong with her.  Seizures.  Hell, I even told you what will help her.  Tryptophan.  Now would you mind…?"

"Yeah.  Tryptophan.  The stuff that was taken off the open market because it was _killing people!!_"

"Well, you won't have to worry about _it _killing her if you don't _help her_!"

"But…"

"Would one of you either do something or get out of here, please?" Logan snapped from Max's side.

Ben nodded, moved over to the couch, and knelt next to the woman.

Logan looked up as the dark-haired man picked up Max's wrist, taking her pulse.  Logan glanced over at Buffy, who nodded, indicating that the man was safe.  Didn't really make Logan feel any less suspicious, though.  _Well, someone's got to be suspicious if Max can't be._

Ben glanced up at the shaking woman's face.  Every few spasms, her face contorted in pain.  "How long has she been like this?"

Logan shrugged.  "Like this?  Only a few days.  But I think she's been without her pills for well over a week now."

"Has she been taking anything else?"  Ben asked, putting a hand to Max's face, but jerking back quickly at the heat of her skin.

Logan shook his head.  "Milk, mostly, for a while.  She tried 5-hydroxytryptophan, but had a hard time keeping it down."

Ben nodded and began rummaging through his kit.  "A common side effect, actually."  He paused and looked up at the man in the wheelchair.  "Uh, what did you say your name was?"

Logan grimaced at his lack of manners.  "I'm Logan, and this is Max.  In other circumstances, I'd say I was pleased to meet you."

Ben snorted a laugh as he pulled a saline bag out of the kit he'd brought.  Max was severely dehydrated, and would tolerate the tryptophan injection better with the IV.  "Well, Logan, I wish the circumstances were better, too, but I'll just go ahead and say it's nice to meet you as well.  I'm Ben."

"Ben," Max murmured as she struggled to open her eyes.  She opened them slightly… and then they bolted open as she jerked backwards, her face filling with fear.  "No!" she shouted.

Logan tried to put a calming hand on her arm, but, even as weak as she was, she tossed it off like it was a fly.  "Max…" he said, concerned.

Max quickly wrestled herself away from the IV needle Ben tried to place in her arm.  "Get away from me!"

He looked at Buffy and shouted, "Help me hold her down!"

Buffy stepped over and grasped Max by the shoulders, holding her down on the couch.

"Beast!  Demon!  Buffy, kill it!" Max yelled, trying to wrest away from the hands restraining her.  Her arms shook violently, but Logan grabbed one hand, and held it still.

Ben hesitated, surprised at the woman's words.__

"Ben!" Buffy snapped.  "Do it!"

Ben broke out of his reverie and quickly placed the IV needle in a vein.  He then picked up the syringe, pulled off the cap, and injected the tryptophan solution in a second vein.

Max growled at him, and glared at Buffy.  But within a few seconds, the shaking slowed, and was reduced to trembles.  

Buffy smiled, glad to see that something was working for a change.  She slowly let go of Max's shoulders and looked at Ben, who was checking Max's pulse again.

Ben couldn't help but be amazed at how quickly the effects of the seizure were leaving Max.  Sure, small shudders were still making their way through the woman's thin frame, but they were nothing compared to the massive quakes that he had seen when he first arrived… five minutes ago?  Ten?  _One thing about medicine_, he thought as he touched the warm skin of Max's face again, _it sure is a good way to make time fly_.  He smiled as the fog began to lift from Max's eyes and she tried to focus.

Max blinked a couple of times, and as her vision cleared, she could see the worried faces around her.  She looked down at the hand grasping hers, and looked up into Logan's relieved face.

"Hey, you," he said softly, his voice full of emotion.

"Hey, you," she repeated in the same tone.  She glanced warily over at Ben, who looked… like a man.  But she would have sworn a few moments ago, she had first seen a woman, and then a… a creature.  She shook the images away, knowing that at the state she was in, she really couldn't trust anything that her confused mind had told her.

"Thanks.  All's good," she told him.

He slowly stood, a little unnerved at the rapid recovery with a simple injection.  "I, uh, brought you something else," he said, reaching into his bag.  He pulled out a small bottle and handed it to her.  "Hopefully this should hold you over until your other source comes through."

Max grinned.  "Thanks again."

Ben nodded.  "Anytime.  Just… please don't let things get this bad next time, okay?"

Max laughed softly.  Her hands jerked again, and she glared at them, irritated that they weren't behaving quite as fast as the rest of her body.

"Do you know what causes the seizures?" Ben asked curiously.

Max narrowed her eyes at him, not trusting his question.  "Bad genes."

Ben shook his head, confused.  "A genetic condition?  So this runs in your family?"

Max looked at Logan, who also was beginning to frown at the line of questioning.  "You could say that.  Why do you want to know?"

Ben shrugged.  "Just curious.  I haven't seen a whole lot of seizures during my time at the hospital.  And nothing quite like yours."

"What can I say?  I'm unique,"  Max said glibly.  She looked at the IV in her arm, and then yawned.  

Ben smiled at the yawn.  "You're probably exhausted.  I'll just run through the rest of my check, and then leave you alone so you can get some sleep."

Max's grin fell away, and she narrowed her eyes at him.  "You don't need to tune the engine.  The oil change was enough."  When Ben opened his mouth, not understanding what she was trying to say, she amended, "I'll be fine.  I'd prefer if you left me alone."

Ben swallowed, a little unnerved by the look in her eyes, and looked at Buffy, who chuckled.  "Since it sounds like the bitch is back, I'd suggest you humor her.  We can keep an eye on her, Ben."

"Well, if you say so… I guess I'll just pack up then."  Ben decided that might actually be safer than sticking around.  He quickly gathered his things, said his goodbyes, and left with Joyce.

Buffy turned to say something to Max, and saw that she had already fallen asleep.  So had Logan, sitting by her side, still holding her hand.  She smiled, and decided that it was her turn to make her leave.  She turned, and saw Dawn standing by the stairs.

She walked over to her little sister, who looked at her for several long seconds before flinging herself at Buffy, grasping her in a enormous embrace.  "Oof!" Buffy exclaimed as the wind was nearly knocked out of her.

"Thank you!" Dawn said tearfully.  "Buffy, I knew you could do it.  If anyone could do it, it'd be you.  You're the best."

Buffy clutched her sister close to her.  Some days, she just needed to hear those words.  Especially when they came from Dawn.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


_February 20, 2001_

Buffy stretched as she walked down the stairs.  She couldn't believe how late she'd slept.  _I must have been more worn out than I'd thought.  But, then again,  it **has** been a little crazy around here lately_.  She walked into the kitchen, and stopped.

Logan was sitting on the counter next to the stove, making an omelet, talking with Joyce.  Max was nowhere to be seen.  "Good morning," Buffy greeted, slightly confused.

"Ah, good morning, " Logan replied.  "Want an omelet?"

"Uh… no."  She paused, but nobody said anything, so she asked, "Where's Max?"

Logan shrugged, concentrating on his omelet.  "She was going a little stir crazy, so I think she left about two… maybe three a.m.  I don't know."

"You don't know?" Buffy exclaimed incredulously.  "What do you mean you don't know?"

Logan looked at Buffy and shrugged.  "I don't exactly keep a tracking collar on her.  She's a big girl."

"But—"

The kitchen door opened and Max waltzed in.  "Hey.  Good morning," she greeted the group happily, holding up a small bag.  "Raked in the nickels last night."

"How are you feeling?" Joyce asked the girl, even though the vast improvement was obvious.  She walked over and automatically raised a hand to feel for fever.

Max easily dodged the movement and slid over to the refrigerator.  "I'm fine.  You can stop doing that now," Max said as she leaned in to rummage for food.

"I can't help it," Joyce said, smiling.  "It's in my genes."

Max looked out of the refrigerator and gave the woman a quick, brilliant grin, before going back to her search.  "Do we have any burgers left or were they all incinerated?"

"I can make you an omelet, if you want," Logan offered.

"No," she said distractedly.  "I'm looking for something a little… ooo!  Chicken!"  She pulled out a container with some drumsticks and proceeded to begin chewing on one before she shut the door.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged in response, using a spatula to lift up an edge of an omelet.

Joyce rolled her eyes and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out a plate and handing it to Max pointedly.

Max smiled again and swallowed.  "Thanks."  She took the drumsticks out of the container and placed them on the plate, then hoisted herself up on the edge of the counter next to the refrigerator, across the kitchen from Logan.

Buffy narrowed her eyes first at Max, then at Logan.  The pair seemed to be all but completely ignoring each other.  "Are you two mad at each other or something?"

Max and Logan looked at her, surprised.  "No.  Why?" they asked in unison.

"Because… you… when… she… argh!" she grumbled, frustrated, realizing that everything _was_ back to normal.  Didn't mean she had to like it, though.  She could hear her mother laughing as Buffy huffed under her breath, "Could the two of you _be_ any more lame?"  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Giles was rummaging in his pockets for the keys to the Magic Shop when he heard the phone begin to ring within.  "Oh, blast," he said.  "Nobody ever calls when I'm here, but the moment I step out for a bloody jelly-filled donut…" he grumbled in frustration at the phone continued its frantic peal.  He finally found his keys, quickly turned the lock and dashed for the receiver.  "Hello?"

He was answered with an earful of static.  Then a faint, tinny, "Hello?  Rupert?"

"Yes.  This is Rupert."  Giles suddenly recognized the voice behind the static.  "Maurice?  Is that you?"

Another crackle, then, "Yeah. It's me.  Sorry about the connection, but the storms are pretty b— now."

Giles laughed.  He had never been able to get a good phone connection to Madagascar before.  Why should now be any different?  "Have you found something, Mau—"

"We've made progress on your problem," Maurice interrupted and answered simultaneously.  The line erupted in another barrage of static, until only a few words came through.  "But—  now."

"What?"  Giles raised his voice, trying to be heard over the noise.  "Maurice, I didn't quite catch that."

"—can't worry about that now.  You— else."

"Maurice?"

The static became an angry roar through the line.  "Don't— Giles.  You have— it— hear me?  Don't—" 

As the interference increased, he could hear faint words on the other end of the line, increasing in urgency, before the line finally went dead.  Giles stared at the receiver in shock, almost unable to believe what he had just heard.

Maurice had said something about "not killing the chimera…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coming… uh… later: Chapter 8 – Acceptance


End file.
